


tumblr

by cloudsNcoffee



Category: Why Don't We (Band)
Genre: Best Friends, Boyband, Bullying, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, Kid Fic, Love Confessions, Making Up, Marriage Proposal, Multi, Post-Break Up, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2019-11-08 22:58:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 44
Words: 40,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17990108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudsNcoffee/pseuds/cloudsNcoffee
Summary: collection of tumblr prompts/imagines





	1. in bed with Why Don't We

**Author's Note:**

> Each Chapter is a different "story", mostly in 2nd person  
> Tagged in the chapter title by the boy <3
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> While these were written with the public persona of the band, their families, their friends and their team in mind, the following works are fiction.  
> I don't know them, own them, or claim to have any insight into their real lives.
> 
> As always, unbeta-ed, please be kind.

in bed with Why Don’t We (Zach)  
Zach doesn’t really sleep.  
In the beginning he tried to hide it, that he can’t fall asleep, can’t stay asleep, and then can’t wake up. He thinks too much, his mind constantly racing in directions that makes those things difficult for him, and winds up falling asleep in the most bizarre places, the floor, the kitchen table, in the empty bathtub. And he didn’t tell you about any of it for months.  
Actually, he didn’t tell you at all.  
Instead, you woke up at four in the morning alone in his bed. You found him sitting on a barstool in the kitchen, all dark circles and bedhead, staring at a cup of tea. You could only guess how long he’d been there because it had gone ice cold.  
“That’s not how this works,” You set the mug in the sink, and tugged him off his seat, “I’m not here because I want to sleep, Zachary, I’m here because I want to sleep with you,” Innuendo, even after failing to sleep for hours, made him smirk.  
“You know that’s not what I meant,” He let you drag him back to bed, “I love you, you idiot, so tell me how to help, because you aren’t dealing with this alone, not anymore,”  
So Zach doesn’t sleep, not really, not unless you’re there.  
But with your hands rubbing his back, your off-key lullabies and the way you always pull him back to bed, he does. 

 

in bed with Why Don’t We (Jack)  
The first time the boys heard you call Jack “bear”, they lost it. Zach grinned, tossed his arm over Jack’s shoulders, and agreed, “He is the cuddliest teddy bear, isn’t he?” while Daniel laughed so hard he claimed he couldn’t breathe. Jonah and Corbyn gave you matching looks that read ‘how cute’, but despite their pleading you refused to confess the reasoning behind that nickname. Jack just rolled his eyes, and when their backs were turned, mouthed, “You’re lucky I’m in love with you.”  
Zach wasn’t exactly wrong, Jack is the cuddliest, when he’s awake. Watching movies, making dinner, or studying, and he can’t keep his hands off you, but the moment he’s asleep it’s a whole different story.  
Jack sleeps on the edge of the mattress, and growls, deep and ridiculous, if you so much as try to inch into his side. That grumpy sound is adorable, and it becomes a game to you, finding out what Sleepy Jack will and won’t put up with.  
Eventually you realize if you launch yourself into his space and cling, wrapping your arm and sometimes your leg around him stubbornly, he still grumbles, but he lets you, and you both sleep so much better.  
You still call him “Bear” though. 

 

in bed with Why Don’t We (Daniel)  
Daniel sleeps flat on his back, which you are ninety-nine percent certain he read somewhere as being the best position for his vocal cords, and means he has both hands free.  
He likes to manipulate you, pull you across his body and tuck your head down on his chest. He hates the way you tie your hair up at night, and loves to slingshot your hair-tie across the room, then with unsurprising gentleness untangle your hair. His long fingers working in the dark, ignoring your admittedly weak protests, because he knows how much you love it.  
When he’s done, and you’re nearly asleep, he rests his palms on your spine, one in the dip of your back, the other on your neck, and thumbs your skin, his big restless hands are always moving, and it feels like protection, like possessiveness. A little bit like the way it feels when he cups his hand around your neck to kiss you, how when you arch into it he tightens his grip, not enough to be truly painful but enough to feel it in every nerve-ending in your body.  
It used to take you hours to fall asleep. Daniel lulls you to sleep on his chest in minutes. 

 

in bed with Why Don’t We (Corbyn)  
Corbyn is the worst in bed.  
The man is all angles and never stops moving. You’re constantly catching elbows, and knees, and once, notably, his stupid pointy chin. It’s a mystery how you’ve avoided getting a black eye thus far, and it’s honestly a miracle that he’s still alive, because he regularly falls out of bed.  
You were sure it would always drive you crazy, until the first time he had to leave you for a tour. You woke up every night he spent on the road, shocked by the stillness, the quiet, the missing limbs flailing into you, and the bitter lack of his sleep-rough voice whispering, “Sorry, baby.”  
So, Corbyn’s the worst in bed, and he knows it. He’s a sleeping disaster narrowly avoided each night, and when he finally comes home after weeks away, exhausted and dirty and dragging his suitcase behind him, only half-joking about how you probably wish he was on getting home from this tour in the morning, so you’d have had another night to sleep alone, the way you answer, “Never,” instantly, vehemently, makes him bite his lip, blush, and, finally, hide his smile against you.  
He’s the worst, but he’s yours. 

 

in bed with Why Don’t We (Jonah)  
Jonah sleeps in a position you would usually describe as suffocating.  
He refuses to wearing anything except his boxers and frowns the second you go for your flannel pajamas.  
“I can make you warm, baby.”  
He presses his chest to your back, wraps his arm around you, and nearly always gets his hand around your wrist. It’s a silent command, ‘Put your phone down, pay attention to me,’ and it always works.  
It’s not spooning, because, absurdly, that term offends him, and because he’s learned to keep his knees away from your space. You kick in your sleep.  
He likes to use your pillow instead of his, placing kisses on your shoulder blade, your neck, the hinge of your jaw. He’s not after anything more (okay, he’s not always after anything more) but instead it feels like he’s pressing his feelings into your skin. The things he only whispers when he thinks you’re asleep,  
“I want you keep you, so bad,”  
“I love you so much, it centers me,”  
“You’re my anchor, the only steady thing in my world, and I will build us a life around that if you just stay,”  
So it doesn’t feel suffocating, sleeping with Jonah, instead you just feel safe.


	2. break up with your girlfriend i'm bored (Zach)

hey gurrllll so i’m not sure if you take requests on blurbs but here we go: i wanted something based off of break up with your girlfriend i’m bored by ariana grande where the reader is really into zach but has to watch him be in a relationship with Kay or something (no hate to her) but he has feelings for her and she makes him choose between her and kay because she’s sick of not being with him if that makes sense (once again no hate to kay lmaoo)

_I haven’t advertised or anything, but when they’re cute, I definitely will take a request. Thank you for asking! <3_  
 _(I don’t mention Kay by name, because even though they’ve never publicly promoted their relationship advocating the break up of “real” people still feels not great to me. I hope you like it anyway!)_  
…  
“You gonna answer that?” Jack gestures with his controller towards the coffee table, where Zach’s phone is ringing. Again. For the fourth time in the last half-hour.  
“Nah,” Zach shakes his head, still starting at their game on the television.  
“She’s your girlfriend,” Jack presses, “What if it’s important?”  
“She’s at the mall,” Zach rolls his eyes, “It’s not important. She probably just wants to know if I like her jeans or something.”  
“You don’t ever let my calls go to voicemail,” Jack mutters under his breath, and you were thinking the same thing. Zach has never not picked up for you.  
“I’m bored,” You lean your head back further into Zach’s lap.  
“You want a turn?” He immediately offers you his controller.  
“No,” You shake your head, “You should break up with her.”  
“What?” Zach’s voice raises three octaves, and he immediately dies in the game.  
Jack starts celebrating before what you said really sinks in, “Okay, and this is when I leave,” he leaps off his end of sofa, your toes suddenly cold because they had been tucked under his thigh. It doesn’t matter that you always come over wearing leggings and one of Zach’s stolen sweatshirts, because the boys keep their air conditioning set to arctic, it’s not enough, and you’ve gotten pretty comfortable cuddling for warmth.  
“Bro,” Zach looks at Jack basically pleading as he jogs towards the door.  
“No way, man,” Jack calls from the hallway, “Your girls, your problem.”  
Zach shoves his hand through his hair, “Are you serious, Ziggy?”  
Of course he’d pull out your childhood nickname for this. Your mom always complained you were her most contrary child, always zigging when she told you to zag, and Zach’s been introducing you to people that way since elementary school.  
“Yeah, Zachy,” You bite your lip, “I want you to.”  
“But why? I thought you liked her,” He studies your eyes, “Or is it…” He is impossibly easy for you to read, the twitch in his cheek, his nervous tell, telling you that he’s afraid to finish that question.  
“Because I want you.” You never do anything in the right order, so maybe you should have realized exactly how much before he went and got himself a girlfriend, but that’s never been your style, and he’s always liked you anyway.  
He inhales, sharp, “Don’t play with me.”  
“Not playing,” You reach over and tangle your hands together. You know every scar and callous on his, and you definitely should have figured this out sooner.  
You aren’t scared though. Zach’s been picking you first since second grade, and you can almost feel how fast his heart is racing.  
“I,” He starts, then shuts his mouth again.  
You squeeze his hand, drop it, then roll off the couch to stand, “Think about it,” You bend down a little, and kiss the corner of his mouth, closer than you’ve ever been to where you really want to put your lips, but you aren’t about to kiss another girl’s boyfriend, “You know where to find me.”  
His eyes are firmly on the little sway of your hips as you walk out the door and you just know, you aren’t going to be bored for long.

 

oh my goshhh please continue the break up with your girlfriend zach concept- like he doesn’t break up with his (imaginary bcus no real relationships mentioned) girlfriend straight away so you all have to hang out together at a party, and u keep stealing glances at each other even though u know u shouldn’t. but then later that night he shows up at your door...

You’re too cute!  
<3 I hope you like it.  
(This is about as close as I get to smut, so be gentle…)  
…  
“If you don’t want everybody here to know exactly what’s going down between you two,” Jack steps in front of you, blocking your view of Zach, “Then you need to quit with the murder eyes.”  
You shove at his shoulder, “I’m not making murder eyes.”  
“You sure about that?” One side of his mouth quirks up, “Because I felt like I was putting myself in moral danger to stand here.”  
Jack wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you in almost like dancing, before he whispers, “He’s bad at confrontation.”  
You can’t help laughing because, seriously, “Jack, I’ve known him from the time he thought putting chopsticks up his nose was the epitome of humor,”  
“So, last week?” Jack smirks.  
You roll your eyes, ignoring that jab, “I know he avoids conflict at all cost.”  
He nods, “Zach told her they’d come to this party together days ago.”  
You peek around Jack’s shoulder, catching Zach’s eyes again, and it’s hard.  
It’s hard, to see him next to her, not only because you want to be the one under his arm, but because she’s nice, and some part of him really does like her, and you still want her gone.  
It’s hard because you don’t necessarily like what it says about you, or Zach, that your confidence in his loyalty is going to hurt her, and even Zach’s inability to keep his eyes off you can’t make you stick around to watch.  
“I think I’m going to head home,” You slip out of Jack’s grasp, and ignore his frown, “Tell Zach I got bored.”  
Jack shakes his head, a quiet kind of sympathy written all over his face, “Yeah, okay.”  
The pounding on your door is an unwelcome wake up call, but it won’t stop. You mutter under your breath about how ‘the building better be on fire’ before pulling open the door to find Zach standing in the hallway.  
His hair looks suspiciously like he’s ran his hands through it a thousand times, and there’s a weird stain on the front of his tee shirt, like someone poured a drink on him, or threw it.  
“You have a key,” You don’t bother with niceties. Pleasantry is for the hours not in the middle of the night.  
“I know,” He holds up his keychain, “But I felt like I needed to knock for this conversation.”  
You down look at the stain again, “Are we discussing how to get wine out of cotton or where we’re burying a body, Z? Because there’s cameras out here,” You point towards the ceiling.  
“Neither, smartass,” Zach laughs, and it’s your favorite sound, “I need you to tell me if you were being serious yesterday.”  
You blink, “And if I was?”  
He narrows his eyes, “Then I’d want to know what would happen if I told you I broke up with her.”  
You bite down on your smile, “You did?”  
Zach starts to nod, then freezes, “Wait. Why aren’t you wearing any pants?”  
“It’s two in the morning, Zachary,” You look down his borrowed-without-permission long sleeve tee, covering everything important, but just barely, “I was sleeping.”  
“In my shirt?” His voice goes pitchy and you love it instantly.  
“Zach, focus,” You look in his eyes, “Why are you here?”  
“Yeah, so,” He shakes his head a little, like he’s trying to clear his mind, then steps into your space, “So, I broke up with her.” His hands land on your waist, and somehow he’s backed you into the door, “Is this okay?”  
“What part of this wouldn’t be okay?” You look up at him, and he opens his mouth to answer, but you cut him off, “Will you just kiss me already?”  
“I’ve been dreaming about this since ninth grade,” His fingers are going to leave bruises on your hips if he holds you any tighter, and you are desperate for it, “Will you just let me enjoy it?”  
He’s staring at your mouth, and instead of responding, you press up to kiss him instead.  
Zach responds like he’s been electrified, his hands immediately moving over you, bending down more, getting a better angle, and then pulling one of your knees up to the side of his waist. You’re distracted by his mouth, the sweet open mouth kisses he’s pressing down your neck, and vaguely aware of his fingers moving higher and higher. His groan when you scratch at his back is deeper than you could’ve imagined, and,  
and it definitely feels like something worth dreaming about.  
“Can we go inside now?” You groan into his shoulder.  
Zach presses another kiss to your neck, “No.”  
“No?” You can’t seem to process that answer.  
“I’m leaving,” He declares, even as his hand keeps inching higher on your thigh.  
You can’t keep the whine out of your voice, “But why?”  
“Because,” He steels himself, pulling back to press his forehead down against yours, “We need to go on a date, to the movies, or something.”  
“Zach,” You are not above pleading, “I’ve seen approximately, I don’t know? All the movies with you, already.”  
“Nope,” He grins, “You said you wanted to be my girlfriend, so we’re going to do the dating things.”  
“You’re the worst,” You pinch his butt over the denim of his jeans.  
“You’re a liar,” Zach just keeps grinning.  
He’s right.  
He’s not the worst.  
He’s actually kind of the best, even if he is walking away whistling and looking like he’s been in a fight with blowdryer and lost. You love him anyway.


	3. Liar (Jack)

Hey girl !!! Can you do one based off the song liar by Leon and she writes the song based off her and jacks relationship and it kinda shows what happens and she performs it at a festival or somthing the boys are at and she’s still friends with them Sorry if that doesn’t make much sense lol but your writing is soooo good so I bet it’ll be amazing !!

_Thank you for being so sweet!_  
 _Piano ballads make my heart ache, in the ‘aren’t feelings incredible’ way, but even with that standard this is especially achy. I hope you like it anyway!_  
…  
“Hey, you,” Jack slings his arm over your shoulder with unwelcome familiarity.  
“Hey,” You blink, looking past his grin at who you presume is his latest girlfriend, and Zach, standing in the doorway of your greenroom, “What are you guys doing here? Your set doesn’t start for hours.”  
“Like I could miss your first time playing in a stadium,” Jack scoffs.  
Zach rolls his eyes, “He’s been dragging us around looking for you for an hour.”  
“Well,” You shrug out of Jack’s hold, pretending to adjust your guitar strap, “You found me.”  
“Nervous?” Jack plucks the B string.  
“Not before you showed up,” You admit the truth, then smile with all your teeth.  
He laughs, “You’re gonna be great.”  
“Speaking of which,” Your manager finally interrupts, “They’re calling you to the stage.”  
You swallow hard, and Jack reaches out to squeeze your hand, offering reassurance like it’s his place, “Just breath.”  
“And sing and dance and play all your instruments,” Zach reminds you.  
“Z,” Jack chastises.  
“What?” He grins as sheepish as he can manage, “She knows how to do all those things.”  
You laugh, just a little, then ignore everything but your setlist and finding your mark on stage.  
It’s effortless for you, getting in front of a crowd and connecting. It’s the only place you feel comfortable lately, but even still it feels unreal to be in this venue with this many people singing your words with you.  
When you chose your final song, weeks ago, you knew it would be the only one nobody would sing back to you.  
When you pictured it though, sitting down at the piano by yourself in front of thousands to sing a song you still haven’t decided to release, you didn’t feel anything close to this anxious, probably because you had no idea Jack would be standing twenty feet away in the curtains.  
You glance up over the keys, searching for him again, finding his silhouette illuminated and his face impossible to read.  
It’s his hand holding that girl’s that makes you brave. You speak into the microphone, across the stage, out to the stadium, “I want to thank you again for being here tonight. I feel so privileged to play for you,” You tuck your hair behind your ears, “I wrote this song about someone I love very much, but don’t think I’ll ever understand. This is ‘Lair’,”  
You sing to him, for him, letting all your feelings play out on your face while your fingers seem to find the right keys on their own. By the final verse, you know you’re crying, but you can’t bring yourself to care, “I’m laying wide awake while you are sleeping. It seems like I can leave and feel forgiven. I’ve asked a thousand times for just one reason,” You beg, “If it’s love, it is rough. Why am I not enough?  
I wonder why you found her, you forget it, the things you have done, the scars you’ve given.  
I’ve asked a thousand times for just one reason. If it’s love, it is rough. Why am I not enough?”  
You let the last note dwell, hanging in the air for a moment before the applause starts, then when the lights turn off, you flee.  
You’re halfway across the stage, so close to running but holding yourself back, when you hear his voice,  
Jack, calling out your name,  
And it only makes you move faster.  
He thunders after you, sprinting, and you turn erratically, trying to shake him and losing yourself instead.  
“Goddamnit,” Jack curses, “Will you please just slow down?” He pants.  
You see an empty concessions stand and decide at the last second to vault yourself over the counter, sinking down behind the register, landing on the floor when your knees give out.  
Jack’s sneakers come to a squeaking stop on the other side, “I caught you, so now you have to talk to me.”  
You say nothing.  
“I know you’re back there,” He goads.  
“No, you don’t,” You swipe at your face with your sleeve.  
“Only you would think that’s a decent hiding spot,” He mumbles, his voice unreasonably fond.  
It makes you angry, “What do you want, Jack?”  
He sighs, “You’re really aren’t going to come out?”  
“Yes.”  
“Fine.” You hear him sit down on the floor, kicking his shoes out in front of him, mirroring you on the opposite side of the stand. “That song,” He asks, “It’s about me, isn’t it?”  
“Jack…”  
“Answer the question,” His voice is hard.  
“I’m pretty sure all my songs are about you.”  
“I didn’t know,” Jack just breaks, “All those times… I didn’t know,” He can’t seem to stop himself, “I thought it was just a thing we did sometimes. I didn’t know you had, feelings,” He sounds horrified, “For me. I didn’t know.”  
“You’re my best friend,” You choke out, “And the things we do are meaningless to you. It’s fine, Jack. My feelings aren’t your problem,” You press your head into your knees because you’ve cried enough over him. You don’t want to let him hear anymore.  
“No,” Suddenly, he’s over the counter, folding himself into the space beside you on the floor, “See, that’s where you’re wrong. Nothing we’ve ever done is meaningless to me. I just didn’t know,” Jack pries your hands off your face, “Look at me, please,” He thumbs over your cheeks, “You mean everything to me, and I’m sorry I fucked this up so epically. You’re right to call me a lair, I am. I’ve been lying for months, pretending like I’m happy with anyone other than you, because I thought that’s what you wanted. There is no universe in which you aren’t enough. You are everything,” He repeats, “and if you give me a chance, I swear I’ll make this right.”  
“Jack,” You’ve said his name in a thousand different ways, but never quite like that.  
“Please,” He caresses your cheekbones, “One more chance. I’ll be so honest with you, you’ll hate me.”  
“Never,” You confess.  
“I despise your high heels, your brother is right about those overalls making you look like bob the builder, and I’ve been in love with you since you gave me my first tattoo,” Jack lists, his mouth a whisper from yours.  
“I stabbed you with a pencil, on accident, in sixth grade,” You reach for his hand, turning it over to run your fingers over the graphite mark in his palm, which he insists was the beginning of his obession with tattoos.  
“And I’ve been in love with you ever since.”  
You snort, “You’re such a dork.”  
“So you’ll give me another chance?”  
“Yes,” You say against his lips, and when he kisses you, for the first time in a long time, you think about how much more familiar you want him to be.


	4. Lie to Me (Jack)

a request for a blurb based off of the song “lie to me” by 5SOS with jack where she sees him or he sees her and they just remember how happy they used to be with each other and later they catch one of them crying in the bathroom and they’re just like apologizing and apologizing i hope that makes sense lol and sorry that it’s rlly angsty i’ve been listening to that song a lot lol

_Such a good song <3_   
_I’m not generally great at angst, but I hope you like it anyway!_

…

If you had known he was going to be here, you wouldn’t have come.  
If you’d known, you wouldn’t have worn this dress. The one he used to tell you, growling and only partially playing, made him crazy.  
If you’d known he was in town, you would have stayed home.

Instead, you’re across the room from him, another boy’s hands on your hips, and sneaking glances at the girl he’s got in his arms.  
You tried to ignore him, tried to pretend you were happy, that this is exactly where you want to be, but every time your eyes drift his direction, he’s already looking at you.

It makes you irrationally angry. Jack has no right to be here, he threw away the privilege to stare at you like you belonged to him weeks ago, and he’s over there touching her.  
In a haze, you lean into the boy behind you. His hands are all over and you would’ve moved away by now, if Jack wasn’t copying every move the guy makes on the girl in front of him.  
You lock eyes, Jack’s serious and arrogant, and you force yourself to smile, to act like you’re having fun.  
The boy behind you inches his hand up your thigh, the girl in front of Jack tangles her hands in his hair, you push your hips back into the boy, and Jack put his mouth on the girl’s neck.  
You feel the boy’s hand sliding closer to your chest, and Jack,  
Jack bites the girl’s ear, his perfect white teeth the only thing you can focus on, and that’s what breaks you.  
It’s too far. Watching him do the thing to her that he always did to make you come undone.

You break away from the boy, shoulder your way through people, stumbling out of the party and into the hall, then finally through an open door.  
It’s someone’s bathroom, a red solo cup discarded on the sink and a pretty hand towel tossed on the floor.  
You will yourself not to cry.  
You splash water on your face, and breathe out slowly.  
And then the door opens.  
You forgot to lock it, but Jack doesn’t. He leans back against the door like he’s supposed to be there, and neither of you say a word.  
The water is still on, but that has nothing to do with the mascara running down your face.  
“Jack,” Your voice breaks around his name. You haven’t seen him in weeks, haven’t said his name once in all that time, and you hate the way it still sounds so fucking precious when you say it.  
“Can I ask you something?” The lighting in here is terrible, and you can’t read the emotion in his eyes.  
“If you have to,” You force out.  
He nods, “Do you still love me?”  
“What kind of question is that?”  
Jack reaches for you, then stops, his hands held out halfway into the space between you and him, “The kind I wake up thinking every day? The kind that’s taking over my brain?” His eyes are broken, “Lie to me if you have to, Beautiful, I just need to hear it.”  
“God, Jack,” You’re helpless, crossing the distance between you, “Of course I do.”  
“I’m sorry,” He brushes the tears from your face, “I’m so damn sorry.”  
“Me too,” You nod your face further into his hands, then he kisses you.  
It’s overwhelming, all-consuming, like the first breath of oxygen you’ve had since he walked away.  
“No one else can make me feel like this,” He groans against your mouth, “You make me crazy.”  
“Are you sure it’s not the dress?” You can’t help asking, insecurity and momentary insanity from the one-eighty this night has turned.  
“It’s never been the dress, Beautiful,” Jack’s voice is already wrecked, “It’s always just been you.”  
You don’t even have to say it for him to know the truth, it’s always just been him for you too.


	5. Favorite Collaboration (Daniel)

You didn’t mean to overhear them.  
You had put your baby boy down in his room, gently shut his door while Daniel did the same in your baby girl’s room, then met him in the hall, offering a silent high-five over another day of keeping them both alive, and, instead, got kissed soundly, his hands in your hair and on your waist, the incredibly loud sound machines in their rooms the only thing reminding you not to make noise.  
Then Daniel had gone downstairs to collect the boys and leave for their game night, while you tiptoed across the loft to your master bedroom.  
You realized before crawling into bed that you had left your phone in the babies’ bathroom, and had reluctantly gone back for it when you heard them; Their voices echoing up from the living room, freezing you on the balcony with a view of the top of their heads.  
“We’re definitely going to lose our table,” Corbyn announces.  
“She said you could just go, bro,” Zach laments, “I don’t know why you insisted on staying.”  
“Because I wanted to?” Daniel is unapologetic.  
“But you were only up there with them for, like, twenty minutes, tops,” Jack points out.  
Daniel looks around the room, explaining, “And those are the best twenty minutes of the day. Bath, Bottle, Bed is,” He huffs out a laugh, it’s somehow both relieved and awed, “I don’t even think I can explain it, but it’s like every night I just look at my kids, and at my wife, and think, ‘How did I get here? How’d I get so lucky? How does my whole world fit on one sofa?’” He shakes his head, “It’s like I blinked and somehow they’re almost one, and I’ve missed so many of their bedtimes already,” He studies the floor, then looks up, “And I know she does it by herself all the time, of course she can handle it, she doesn’t need me, the woman is my hero, but I want to be there, because it’s the only twenty minutes of the day where I can really, truly, appreciate how good I’ve got it. How thankful I am for every minute I get with them, and how fleeting it is. They’re almost walking,” His voice is so, so, proud, “Then they’ll be running and then driving then gone to college, and I’ll be sitting on a sofa with just my wife thinking about how lucky I was to get to do this with her. I don’t want to miss a minute of this, guys, not one second, not for game night, not for anything.”  
“You big sap,” Corbyn punches his shoulder.  
“You’re going to make me cry,” Jonah tries to joke but sounds way too sincere.  
“They’re my favorite collaboration, and the most important thing I’ll ever do,” Daniel’s smiling, you can hear it his voice, “I’m going to be saccharine over them until the day I die.”  
“Alright,” Jack decides, “That’s enough sickeningly adorable on game night. I feel like we need nachos a.s.a.p. to regain our manhood. Let’s go,” He starts towards the door.  
Daniel collects their cups, setting them beside the sink before following the rest of the boys out.  
They’re nearly outside when you hear Zach declare, “I want a baby.”  
“Yeah,” Jack agrees, “Me too.”  
“Might need to figure out how to keep a girl first, gentlemen, but I can’t wait to watch parenthood kick you all in the feels,” Daniel chuckles softly while he locks the door, and you feel endlessly grateful that both your babies have their Daddy’s laugh and you have him.

 

_…_   
_I’ve spent the last two days babysitting my nine-month-old cousins. They’ve had my heart since the day they were born, but now I’m positive their mommy is Superwoman. <3 Every thing about babies is hard, but every second is love._


	6. Kitchen Disaster (Daniel)

Daniel is a disaster in the kitchen.   
He was trying to be sweet.   
You know that. You cooked, he insisted on doing the dishes.   
“Fair’s fair, baby,” He’d kissed your cheek before filling the sink, and you had reluctantly gone back to your book.   
It happened so fast, the crash, the spilt second of silence, then Daniel’s quick intake of breath. You didn’t have time to get the words out, ‘don’t pick it up’ and knew at that sound, hurt and surprised in a way that made your heart stop for a moment, that it was too late.  
It was instinct, the same fight or flight that makes you reach for the falling iron instead of letting it hit the floor, that made him do it.  
He wasn’t thinking, just reacting, reaching in after the glass, the soapy water clouding the sharp edges, and now you’re pretty sure that’s blood dripping down his fingers.   
“Daniel,” You cradle his palm in your hands, inspecting the damage, “You have to be more careful.” This is why he’s not allowed to cook any more, the fourth time he burned himself on frozen pizza was the last time you let him near the oven.  
He drops his forehead to your shoulder, mumbling, “I’m sorry.”   
You turn the water on, check the temperature, the move his hand underneath it, “Don’t apologize.”   
He hisses when the water runs over his cut, “I’m so dumb.”   
“You’re not dumb,” You kiss the top of his head, still laying on your shoulder, getting mostly his hair, “I just really like you in one piece, so you can’t do that again,” You inspect the wound, “And, you need stitches.”   
He groans.   
“Don’t be a baby,” You wrap a towel around his hand, “I’ll get the keys while you call your mom.”   
He pouts, “Can’t you call her?”   
“I love you more than anything in the whole world, Daniel,” You slip past him, smiling gently over your shoulder, “But I am not calling your mother to tell her to meet us at the ER because you sliced your hand open.”   
“But you’ll still hold my hand, right?” He pouts, “The not hurt one.”   
You can’t help giggling, “Yeah, Dani, I’ll still hold your not hurt hand.”   
Daniel might be a disaster in the kitchen, but you wouldn’t trade him for anyone.


	7. Possibility (Daniel)

I have this whole concept about meeting Christina and her introducing her boyfriend Corbyn and all three of you clicking and being so close so when you finally break up with your terrible boyfriend those two hatch a plan to hook you up with Daniel aka the sweetest human being but waiting a couple of months so you can be sure it’s not a rebound and it’s so cute

_This is such a cute concept, and you are 100% right, Daniel’s a total cinnamon roll, which is The Best. (I switched up your best friends though, because boy/girl-best-friends are my favorite)_  
 _There’s this brilliant Mary Oliver poem, that I couldn’t stop thinking about when I read this, my favorite lines of which are;_  
 _‘Still, life has some possibility left… It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant love begins.’_  
 _I hope you like it <3_  
…  
“I’m deleting Tinder,” You declare, letting yourself in the door of your best friend’s apartment, remembering at the last second his girlfriend is in town, “And you both better have pants on.”  
“It’s two in the afternoon,” Corbyn complains, “What kind of animals do you take us for?” He pauses then, “Wait. You have a Tinder?”  
“Cor,” You flip down beside him on the couch, “I have seen things,” You glare at him, “At all manner of times, in which normal humans wear clothes, that I can never unsee.”  
Corbyn, the creep, just wiggles his eyebrows, then makes a serious face, “Back to you having Tinder.”  
“I’m deleting Tinder,” You correct, “Because all boys are the same.”  
“Hey!” He digs his fingers into your side, making you laugh, “I’m a boy.”  
“You’re special,” You jerk away from him, then reach over to pat the top of his head, your words condescending but also true. “And Tinder was Christina’s idea in the first place.”  
“Thanks, babe,” She sticks her tongue out at you, “I suggested that you should, y’know, think about dating again. Not sign up for Tinder.”  
You stick your tongue out back at her, because Christina might be your reward for a lifetime of putting up with Corbyn and maybe you took the easy way out of her suggestion that your life had become monotonous and boring since your last breakup and you should consider ‘getting back out there’, but you’re beginning to think your life just meant to be that way, and you would happily take dull over unsolicited intimate pictures any day.  
Corbyn and Christina have a conversation with their eyes then, and it would be annoying if they were so cute it made you want to puke.  
Corbyn finally turns back to you, “You should let me set you up.”  
You don’t even think about it, “Do you remember junior year homecoming, Corbyn? Because I do. I remember.”  
“Hey,” He protests, “I’ll get Christina’s approval this time!”  
“I don’t know,” You let your voice trail off.  
“I promise,” He holds his hand over his heart, “I have the perfect dude for you.”  
“If you set me up with any kind of ‘dude’,” You make air-quotes, “I’m going to put spray-cheese in your playstation.”  
“Man!” He corrects, shifting his body to block your vision of the gaming console, “I meant man.”  
“This is a terrible idea,” You decide, even as you nod in acquiescence.

“This is a terrible, terrible idea,” You mutter to yourself, pulling out your phone to have something to do with your hands, other than tug on your skirt.  
“It’s just coffee, right?” A deep, distinctly recognizable voice answers, “How bad could it be?” You know that voice, because you listen to him crooning in chorus with Corbyn constantly, and you’ve never been able to forget the first time you heard it. You got so caught up in listening to him, you forgot your own name.  
“Daniel,” You drag your eyes up his body. He’s dressed up, one of his absurd button-downs and that earring you love/hate. Forget the playstation, you’re going to kill your best friend. You’ll miss him forever, but it has to be done.  
“Hi,” He grins, and your knees go weak. “You look beautiful.”  
You gape, and then manage to ask, “What are you doing here?”  
“Buying you coffee?” He pushes open the door, walking inside, still grinning, “Go sit down, I’ll get our drinks, and then I can explain if you want?”  
You follow him wordlessly, because you’re only human.  
And he does explain, holding his tea between his hands, his foot pressed against yours under the tiny cafe table, he tells you how he’s wanted to ask you out for months, how much he hated watching you with your ex, how when you finally broke up he wanted to send you flowers the very same day, and the only thing that stopped him was Corbyn’s instance that you needed time for, “Oven s’mores and bounces?”  
Which you translate for him, “That’s only thing he can cook, and for some reason, he thinks mourning must involve food and breakups require rebounds before new relationships,” You shake your head because Corbyn’s strange vocabulary is not important right now, “You waited…” The math makes you feel a little dizzy, “Months?”  
He nods, reaching out to tuck your hair behind your ear, smirking, “For you, I’ll wait as long as you need me to.”  
The instant Daniel’s fingertips touch your skin, chemistry sparks, colors explode in your vision that you forgot existed, mostly in the ocean of his eyes, and you think, ‘Oh. How did I forget? This is what possibility feels like.’


	8. Home (Daniel)

‘It’s so nice to be home’  
The thought startles you when you’re sinking into the pillows on the couch.  
You’d been gone for a week, seven nights in a different state, and when Daniel picked you up late last night he couldn’t quit smiling. He was grinning before you got to the curb at the airport, smiled through hefting your suitcase into the back of the car, and straight up beamed your direction at every stoplight between the airport and his apartment.  
Somewhere between the car and the morning, you’d both lost track of your phones, lost track of the world and everything outside the two of you.  
Then daylight came, he rushed off to the studio, and the reality of the mountain of laundry you’d brought back hit.  
Sometime between the third and fourth load of clothes, Daniel’s tee-shirts and ridiculous knee-less jeans mixed in with your favorite leggings, you’d realized his kitchen was empty. Or, not exactly empty, but missing anything that could possibly be considered healthy.  
So you’d gone shopping, grabbed the essentials and rushed out, speed-walking home on the off chance he’d be finished early today.  
You had just finished flipping the laundry from the washer to the dryer and putting the groceries away then flopping down on the sofa, the direction of your thoughts sparking a tiny freakout, when Daniel walks in the door.  
He’s spinning his keyring on his finger, whistling something you haven’t heard yet but already want to listen to a thousand times, and grinning again, before his eyes even land on you.  
“Hey, baby,” Daniel is oblivious to your internal turmoil. He tosses his keys on the counter, bends down to press a kiss to your lips, then goes directly for the fridge.  
“Hi,” You will your voice to come out normal and burrow further into the pillows. The pillows are safe. The pillows are not going to judge you for thinking of your boyfriend’s apartment as home like a crazy person.  
Daniel studies the contents of the fridge for a second, bending down a little, then glancing over at you from behind the door, “Uh, babe?”  
“Yea?” You study the pattern of the art on his wall. Nothing to see here.  
“Did you happen to get anything other than spinach when you were at the grocery store?” His question is genuinely curious, but also shades of amused and resigned that make you bite your lip.  
“Quinoa?” It’s a statement, but leaves your mouth a little uncertain.  
“Right, right,” He nods a couple times, then mutters under his breath while closing the refrigerator, “You’re so weird,” The fondness in that sentence makes your cheeks go red. Daniel’s voice is slightly louder when he says, “I missed you so fucking much.”  
He kicks his shoes off and manipulates himself into your space on the couch, pulling you halfway on top of him and tucking his face into your hair, “I’m so glad you’re home.”  
His heartbeat thuds in your ear as he says it, his arms wrapped tightly around you, and he’s right.  
You’re home.

 

_** For N. (thanks for thinking our pantry full of quinoa is cute and Not That Weird, and also being my home)_


	9. Kisses for Caffine (Daniel)

You’re barely awake, because Tyler is banging two pans together and singing some country song obnoxiously loud, when you hear his curtain open.  
You know it’s his, because he has the bunk directly across from Daniel’s and you don’t think before bailing out of bed. The curtain swishes around you, and the second your feet hit the ground you’re sprinting.  
“Damnit,” Jonah curses, and thunders after you.  
You duck past Tyler, and he groans, “Not again.”  
Jonah has probably six inches on you, and uses all of them to catch up, then because he’s a cheater, he throws his arm in front of you and dives for the Keurig.  
“Jonah,” You growl. His name is not the first thing you wanted to say this morning, but extenuating circumstances and all that.  
“Yes?” Jonah gives you his best innocent face and it’s possible Corbyn wasn’t wrong to toss out the knives. You briefly consider charging him.  
You grind your teeth, “I got here first.”  
“I’d beg to differ,” He starts, caressing the machine.  
Daniel’s arm wraps around your waist, wordlessly. Then he picks you up and spins you around to face the rest of the band watching your exchange in the hallway, still half-asleep and wearing their pajamas. Daniel sets you down then takes your place in front of Jonah, and you turn around to glare at them both.  
“Put the machine down, Jo,” Daniel is obviously restraining his laugher, because as much as he loves you, he cannot understand your quote-unquote ridiculous dependence on caffeine, and for some reason finds your ongoing feud with his soon-to-be-deceased-if-he-doesn’t-relinquish-the-coffee-machine bandmate hilarious.  
“I got here first,” Jonah protests.  
“And I’ve got all the k-cups,” Daniel holds up the box and he has never looked so sexy.  
“Dude,” Jonah complains, pouting at Daniel, “What happened to band brotherhood?”  
“Are you going to kiss me in exchange for coffee?” Daniel looks at him blankly.  
For a second, Jonah almost looks like he’d consider it, which is fair, but, “No.” He continues pouting, but sets the machine down then slides into the bench at the table to wait.  
You, however, will absolutely kiss Daniel in exchange for coffee, and proceed to do so the entire time your cup is brewing. Jack and Zach giggle and gag like actual children, but Daniel is adrenaline to you and maybe if you got to do this every morning you wouldn’t need the coffee.  
It’s still delicious though, made impossibly better by beating out Jonah to it, and the way Daniel grins all proud of himself at your satisfied moan.


	10. Indescribably Good (Daniel)

so I’m not sure how cute this request is but you can literally take straw and turn it to gold as far as writing goes!! so becoming good friends w one of the boys girlfriends and them introducing you to the band when they’re in town near you and you become really good friends w Daniel and then it slowly becoming more as time passes and he shows up to your dorm randomly to tell you he loves you bc he can’t hold it in anymore

_Aww, you’re so sweet! Thank you!_  
 _I’m not actually all that creative when it comes to college campuses, and don’t write about my own, so Columbia is my go-to, (my heart doesn’t reside in NYC anymore, but dear god, do I love that city) and there’s nothing quite like being kissed soundly under those lights so, I hope you think this is gold anyway <3_  
 _(Also, it was an adorable request.)_  
…  
You became friends with Christina by accident.  
Seriously, by accidentally falling into her lap on the subway.  
To be fair, you were shoved by a businessman too engrossed in his iPhone to notice you, and she thought it was hilarious, but still; it was an accident.  
She liked your sneakers and the brand of the empty coffee cup in your hand, and you recognized her from a dozen other early morning subway rides downtown because your route to the Met for Monday art history ‘field-trips’ happened to coincide with hers for her early morning FIT classes.  
Christina decided it was fate, and now you were friends, without your input, because she’s that type, and you adore that about her.  
The first time she introduced you to the boys, you thought you were being dragged to Times Square for a weirdly touristy lunch to meet her mysterious always ‘traveling’ boyfriend.  
Instead, when you arrived at her apartment makeup-less and wearing leggings, she ambushed you. You left, firmly suspicious, wearing her leather jacket and fake eyelashes.  
You were grateful for both, however, when instead of lunch you ended up backstage at TRL, shaking hands with a boy with the cutest smile you’d ever seen, Christina introducing you by announcing, “Hey, Dani, have you met your soulmate?”  
Your cheeks went immediately pink, but she just kept talking, grinning, “Her sheets are watermelon.”  
“I mean, they’re mostly white,” You were confused by this whole conversation, but he just kept smiling, your hand still in his.  
“With watermelons!” Christina seemed ridiculously giddy to share that fact, then immediately resumed her quest to find out exactly how much of Corbyn’s, her not-so-mysterious anymore boy-bander boyfriend, clothing she could remove before they had to go on stage.  
And Daniel still hadn’t let go of you.

It started with voicenotes. Daniel’s voice in seconds and melodies you couldn’t help dancing to. Your return messages all variations on the theme of, “How are you so talented?” and “It’s perfect. You could try going higher, maybe. But it’s perfect.”  
Then it was facetime. Hours of explaining your homework and listening to his sleepy monologues about history and architecture and getting lost in whichever city they were performing in. Sometime around November, when Daniel took to reminding you every morning to water Franklin, the tiny cactus on your windowsill, you realized you were in love with him.  
Now, it’s January, and you still haven’t done anything about it. What do you say to your best friend when the only thing you‘re capable of thinking of lately is kissing him?  
It gets so dark so early in the winter here that walking back to your dorm from dinner at Christina’s apartment it might as well be midnight.  
You’re nearly home, striding through the campus gates, when you see him.  
Clearly lost, wondering around between the rows of trees covered in fairy-lights, because the man can hum Mozart flawlessly, but completely lacks any kind of internal compass.  
“Daniel?” You’re utterly incapable of suppressing the smile his presence inspires.  
He turns towards you, his jacket zipped all the way up to his neck and a crazy colored beanie covering all his hair, “Hey,” He drags out the word, obviously trying to be cool for some reason you can’t fathom.  
“What are you doing here?” You move closer, and wrap your arms around his waist.  
“I, um,” He stutters.  
You step away, because he isn’t hugging you back, “Is something wrong?”  
Daniel wrings his hands together, and nods.  
Your face falls, and his eyes go wide.  
“Oh, god,” He grabs you by your arms, “Not with you!” He shakes his head, “I mean, sort of…”  
“You’re kind of freaking me out here, bud,” You look into his eyes, trying to read his mind.  
Daniel takes a deep breath, “I don’t want to be your bud.”  
“Um,” Being stabbed might’ve been less painful than hearing that, and you don’t know what to say.  
“No,” He rushes out, “God, no. That’s not,” He pulls you closer, and you’re helpless in his arms, “I don’t want to be your bud, babydoll, because I want to be your boyfriend.” Daniel has an excellent ear so, of course, he hears your tiny shocked inhale. “I’m so in love with you, it’s insane. I haven’t written anything in days, except your name next to mine, and I ditched the guys at the airport because I had to see you. I can’t quit thinking about you.”  
He gives you a minute, holding you tight, then whispers, a little bit nervous and a lot more amused because he knows you, “Well, are you going to say anything?”  
“I love you too?” It’s muffled into his chest.  
“Is that a question?” He asks back, his breath hot in your ear.  
“No?”  
“Good,” Daniel slides his hands up, and then, suddenly, you’re kissing in the center of the sidewalk, ten feet from the guard-stand, lit up by the sparkling lights surrounding you, your tongue tracing the gap in his teeth you’ve been dreaming about for weeks and the sting of his bite at your bottom lip, and it’s so, so, indescribably good.  
Just like him.


	11. No Promises (Daniel)

Can you do a Daniel imagine where you guys get in a big fight and right after he has to do a live stream with the guys and you can just tell he’s in a bad mood. And y/n is in the back of the tour bus venting to Christina.. Sorry that’s so specific lol

_Specific is SO helpful, actually. <3_  
  
…  
“I really don’t feel like that’s too much to ask,” You bite your lip, laying your head down on Christina’s shoulder.  
“It’s not,” She pats your hair, “Not at all… But that’s their life,” Christina reminds you, “This is how it is.”  
“I know,” You sigh, because acknowledgement is a long way from acceptance.  
Christina glances at her phone, “They’re about to go on. Do you want to watch?”  
“I guess,” You sigh again, because Daniel’s been buzzing about this for days. You want to be excited for him, and you were until an hour ago, but now you just can’t mange it.  
Daniel is in the far left corner of the frame, all the boys stacked together perfectly so their faces are visible on camera, and you’re so busy watching him you completely miss their announcement and whatever the rest of them are saying. Daniel never opens his mouth, his eyes serious and sad in a way that makes your stomach flip because you know that’s your fault, until he stands up.  
“Uh, Daniel?” Jonah calls after him.  
Daniel doesn’t turn around, “Sorry. There’s something I need to do.”  
Zach wrestles control of the phone they’re filming on from Jonah, and flips the camera to follow Daniel. You recognize the direction he’s heading but don’t understand why, and completely ignore Zach’s commentary about their bus and the rest of the boys trying to get them both back.  
Daniel digs around in the suitcase on his bunk for a minute, hastily pockets something then opens the door to the lounge where you and Christina are sitting.  
You go from watching his back on the screen to seeing him in person standing in front of you, and Christina, the traitor, slides to the opposite side of the couch.  
“You’re right,” Daniel concedes, but there’s fire in his eyes, “You’re right about almost everything. I am bad at plans and can never keep my promises, not about vacations, or birthdays, or dinner,” He picks up your hand, “And your life would be easier with someone else. Someone with a nine-to-five job that never missed church with on you Sunday or got too busy for anniversaries, but, angel?” He looks into your eyes, “It wouldn’t be better. I know I disappoint you, and infuriate you, and take ten years off your life every time I jump around on stage,” He grins, sinking down on one knee, “But I love you more than anyone else could even begin comprehend. You’re right, I can’t promise you plans, but I can promise you me,” Daniel takes out a box, “And I hope that’s enough, because I’m not about to give you up,” He takes the ring from the box, then places it on your finger, “So you might as well marry me.”  
It’s more of a demand than a question, but you say “Yes,” anyway, before throwing yourself into his arms, knocking him back onto the floor, leaving Christina to haul Zach out of the room and muffle the noise of all the guys cheering by slamming the door behind them.  
When you finally separate yourself from Daniel, after the boys threaten to find a crowbar and pry you apart or throw ice water on the situation, you can’t quit staring at the band on your finger. It’s not your dinner reservation, but it is so much better.


	12. Magic (Jonah)

I’m not sure if you take concepts/blurbs but I’ve seen your writing and was wondering if you could write one about being a traveler (even a travel vlogger) and taking Jonah with you to like Zion National Park or the areas of Wyoming/Montana/Minnesota? If not, totally cool don’t wanna bother!!

_No one’s ever asked! (My sister has demanded, and my adorable friend OA has snuck her way into influencing plots) but I am so happy to write this for you because National Parks are so special to me (which, if you’ve read my stuff on AO3, and I think you might have from that Zion reference, you probably guessed) and you were so sweet in asking. Thank you so much for the adorable prompt! I hope you like it_  
…  
That Jonah has never been to Yellowstone, despite growing up three states away, is a tragedy to you.  
You spent most of your life about as far away from Wyoming as you could get in the continental United States, and still managed to make it there before your eighteenth birthday. It may have taken a vlog camera and a willingness to be looked at funny while ostensibly talking to yourself in public, but you did it.  
So, for his break, you bought tickets. You rearranged schedules, threatened dismemberment to the first of his bandmates to interrupt with anything less than a real emergency, because the last time you two tried to take a vacation you were halfway to Yosemite when Zach called because he somehow managed to leave the only set of keys to his apartment in Jonah’s duffel bag, and finally texted Jonah’s mom to apologize for stealing him away. She just told you to have fun and be safe and that she loves you and you knew that she meant every word. She’s so much like her son that way.  
Her son who is, currently, glancing wistfully at the crowd of people moving towards the lookout and away from the trailhead.  
“Jonah,” You hitch up your backpack and get his attention, “We’re going this way.”  
“But,” He waves pathetically the other direction.  
It was, a tiny bit, cruel of you, to drag him out of bed at seven in the morning and deposit him at the beginning of a five mile hike. You reach for the hidden thermos in your bag, and hold it out to him, “I have coffee.”  
He scrambles up the first ten feet of trail so fast you begin to wonder if you shouldn’t have just been leading him up from the parking lot with the cup under his nose.  
“Gimme, gimme, gimme,” You do, and he drinks, deep swallows moving his adam’s apple while he looks between you and the trail map.  
“Uh, babe?” He puts the thermos in his own backpack when he’s done.  
“Yes?”  
“Why does this poster say we need bear-spray?” He points to the bulletin you’d hoped he was too tired to read.  
You decide, because Jonah is both the most fearless and overprotective person you’ve ever met, depending on the day, that you probably shouldn’t disclose the conversation you overheard at the hotel this morning, “No reason. We should get moving though, it’s going to heat up quickly,” Which is true. Summer is brutal here when the sun is up, but mostly you just want him to quit thinking about predators and focus on what you’re here to do.  
“There were wolves or coyotes or something howling outside our room this morning,” Jonah won’t let it go though, “You aren’t going to get us eaten, right?”  
You roll your eyes, “Don’t be such a diva, Jo, kids do this trail,” You point towards the family in the distance in front of you and don’t mention that they’re probably turning back at the quarter mark, and you’re absolutely taking him to the peak, “We’ll be fine.” You take his hand, and he lets you, and for the first fifty yards or so you manage to hold it, then the trail narrows and you set off in front of him.  
Jonah muses after a couple minutes, and the fourth chipmunk you’ve excitedly shown him, “You’re acting like a five-year-old in Disney World.”  
You can’t help the happy bounce in your steps, “This is my Disney World.”  
“I guess that’s fair.” You don’t look back to see his face, but you don’t need to. You know exactly which half-adoring half-amused expression he’s wearing.  
This trail is steep, and precariously close to the kind of cliff you don’t want to go over, and for the next thirty minutes, you’re both quiet. It’s the good kind of quiet though, the kind that lets you hear birds singing and his steady breathing behind you.  
Usually, this would be the part you’d use for time lapses, the place for strategizing a thumbnail for your video, or backtracking to film yourself hiking up to the camera. It’s perfect today though, with all your equipment in your bag. Today isn’t for YouTube, it isn’t for your vlog, or for anyone else. This is just for him.  
At the end of the trail, you slip under one of the barely there railings made of wood, designed more to indicate the summit than a real barrier from the ledge, and Jonah;  
Jonah plants both hands on top of the post, just staring, “Damn,” He sounds slightly out of breath in a way that usually means you’re about to lose yours, “This is unbelievable.”  
You just nod because even that is an understatement, it’s twelve hundred feet down and the most insane blue water at the bottom, in pictures it never looks real. You lift your backpack off your shoulders and inch towards the edge, sitting as close as you dare with your camera in your bag. Jonah joins you after a minute, sitting down incredibly close, pressing the side of his body against yours, and he smells unfairly good after hiking three miles.  
“I get it, you know,” He smiles, looking out at Yellowstone Canyon, “Why you’re always running off for this.”  
“You do?”  
He nods, “How could you ever sit still if you could be out here feeling this?”  
You bite your lip, “It doesn’t always feel exactly like this.”  
“Like we’re tiny and relatively meaningless and the world is so beautiful it still kind of breaks your heart that you might not see it all?”  
“No,” You smile, “That part,” that you are certain he took from one of your oldest videos about visiting Glacier Park, and somehow in his voice feels even more true, “That part is always sort of the same, but this,” You lean in, “Being with you makes it better.”  
“I think I get that too,” Jonah smirks, and puts his hand on your jaw, tilting your head back to kiss you.  
You could, have and would, do that all day, except this is a public lookout, and you have plans. Plans involving more hiking and less of his mouth which are beginning to seem like worse and worse ideas by the second. “Okay,” You scramble up to standing, moving back from the edge and dusting off your hands, “Grand Prismatic Spring, one more waterfall, and then we can go swimming.”  
Jonah shakes his head, “I really love you.”  
You tilt yours, “I love you too?” That you love him isn’t a question, but the charmed look on his face is confusing.  
He climbs back through the railing, then wraps his arms around you, pressing you against his chest, “You’re magic. The world is huge and humans are insignificant and infinitesimal, and still,” He smirks again, “You are magic. I don’t know how I got so lucky.”  
That you think that, every day, about every part of your life, but especially about him, goes unsaid, but you’re sure by now he knows. You’re the luckiest.


	13. Listening To You (Jonah)

Um hi so I was wondering if you could write something where reader calls Jack to tell him that she likes one of the other boys but she doesn't know that that particular boy just happens to be within earshot of this conversation

_*waves* hi!_  
 _This falls under super cute so, of course, I’m happy to write it for you. (Although, you could’ve made it a little easier by specifying which boy overhears, but… )_  
 _I hope you like it <3_  
…  
“I need you to be my girl-friend,” You tap your fingers anxiously against the counter, the phone pressed between your shoulder and your ear, staring at the work you should be doing but can’t focus on.  
“Sure,” Jack answers, because he’s familiar with this code. You’ve been friends all your lives. At times, you’ve been each other’s only friend, basically all of middle school, during which you spent a lot of time crying and he kept trying to offer you solutions instead of listening, until you screamed at him that sometimes you just needed a girl friend to talk at, and he answered, completely seriously, that he ‘could be that for you.’  
You guess it’s a benefit to growing up with his mom, and his sisters. Jack’s always been surrounded by women, and when he wants to, when he knows you need him to, he’s the perfect person to vent to, to rant at, to bare the full force of your emotions and have them all validated, even when they’re stupid, because it turns out, he can be a really great listener.  
“Is it the receptionist again?” Jack’s voice sounds kind of far away, “Because that guy’s a douche.”  
“No,” You smile, because obviously he would remember the annoying guy in reception at your internship who’s always cornering you. Jack’s already threatened, unnecessarily, to come defend your honor twice.  
“Did your sister steal my shirt again?” Jack continues, “I’ll make her give it back, and send you a new one.”  
This is also a regular rant of yours, because she can’t keep her sticky fingers out of your closet and Jack’s shirts are your favorite, “No,” You sigh, “It’s about Jonah.”  
“What?” Jack’s voice sounds strangled, “Why? Did he do something?” There’s a barely concealed fury in his tone, and you rush to correct him.  
“No. Jesus, Jack,” You laugh, “You didn’t insist on teaching me to throw a punch for nothing. If he did something I didn’t want, he’d have a black eye.”  
“Oh, yeah,” He deflates, “So? What’s wrong with him?” Jack’s almost laughing, you can tell by his breathing, and you don’t completely understand his mood swings.  
“You’re my girl-friend right now,” You remind him.  
“Yeah, honey, we already established that,” He’s rolling his eyes, you just know it.  
“Last time I was staying with you, Jonah came into the kitchen in the morning in just his boxers and I can’t quit thinking about what his abs would taste like and how far his tan goes and I really want to know what his hair feels like, I bet it’s soft, but kind of sticky? He has to use hairspray or something, no one has bedhead that messy that isn’t artificial but I want to know, and I want to know where that dumb duck tattoo is from and his voice. Jack, his voice. When he had to keep doing all those takes in your studio and then he moaned,”  
“Oh, my, god! Stop talking!” Jack’s been speaking during most of your monologue, but you’re only just now hearing what he’s saying.  
“Jack?” He’s laughing now, exasperated and fond and maybe a little embarrassed. “Too weird to hear me talk about your bandmate?”  
“It’s not that,” Jack starts.  
“He had you on speakerphone,” A different voice finishes. The voice you were just raving about like a love-struck moron.  
“I’m, just, going to go hide under my bed forever now,” You decide aloud.  
“Or you could let me take you out sometime, and find out exactly what my abs taste like?” Jonah suggests.  
Jack protests, “Dude.”  
“What?” Jonah responds, “I’ll take her to dinner first.”  
“Somewhere nice,” Jack bargains.  
“The nicest,” Jonah agrees, and you finally find your voice again.  
“Excuse me. I am neither a princess nor a piece of livestock, you don’t need to barter over me.”  
“Just making sure he’s going to take care of you!” Jack practically purrs.  
“And that was my plan anyway,” Jonah’s voice contains a smile, “I’ve been thinking about you since you left.”  
It’s glaring obvious you’ve been doing the same, “Well, I guess that’s okay.”  
Your words spark ridiculous cheering you can hear through the phone, and you wonder just how many people have been listening to this conversation, and what exactly you’ve gotten yourself into.  
“You’ll be here at the end of the month?” It’s just Jonah’s voice on the line now.  
You nod, before realizing he can’t see you, “For a week.”  
“Perfect,” His voice is soothing and exciting and you have no idea how he manages that, “I can’t wait to see you.”  
“Me too,” You admit, because there’s no point in playing coy now. Then you remember how you got here, “Can you give Jack his phone back though? We need to have a chat.”  
“Don’t be too hard on him,” Jonah laughs, “He’s been doing that for weeks because I like listening to you too.”  
You melt, just a little, but still threaten Jack with every embarrassing childhood picture you have if he ever does it again.

 

Hi, I love your writing!!! Could you possibly do a part 2 of the one where the reader was talking to jack on the phone about Jonah and he overheard please. It was really cute and your writing is supppppppppper doooopppppper good

_Of course! <3 Thank you so much!_  
…  
“What about these?” You jump up and down, pulling on yet another pair of jeans.  
Jack, from his position laying on the bed with his head upside-down, surveys you, “They’re your clothes. It’s your choice.”  
“Jack,” You whine, turning around to look in the mirror, “That’s what you say when you think my choice sucks.”  
He snickers, “I liked the blue ones.”  
“But Jonah said ‘nice’,” You groan, “What about the dress?” You start digging through your suitcase again.  
“What about,” Jack climbs off the bed, then plants his hands on your shoulders, stopping you, “You chill out. It’s Jonah,” He stresses his name, “Dude’s easy. You’re not hideous or anything, and he’s seen you those criminally ugly sweatpants and still, somehow, wants you. I vote you go like this.”  
You punch his arm for the backhanded compliment, “Thanks, J,” Then duck around him to walk into his closet, “I’m taking your black sweatshirt.”  
Jack follows you inside, watching you pull it on, “To wear on a date?”  
“You just said he wasn’t going to care,” You protest.  
Jack plucks at the cotton over your collarbone, “I don’t think guys generally love their girlfriends in other dude’s clothes.”  
“Slow down there, Avery. This is our first date, I’m not his girlfriend,” You laugh, “And I slept in your bed last night, if Jonah’s got an issue with that, we’re gonna have problems,” You aren’t worried though. The boys, at first, didn’t understand your relationship with Jack at all. Then you explained you can only take so many Not Sexy baths with someone before you permanently lose the ability to see them as anything but platonic, and you’d hit that limit with Jack before you were three.  
There’s a knock on his door then, Jonah’s voice asking, “Ready to go?”  
You take a breath, looking at Jack, “Wish me luck?”  
“Nah,” He shoves you towards the hall, “You don’t need it.”

Jonah gets out of the Uber first, offering you his hand then standing in front of you on the sidewalk, “Can I cover your eyes?”  
You squint, “Um…”  
“Just for a minute,” He slides his big warm palms over your face, obscuring your vision, leaning you through a door before he lifts them off.  
“Jo?” You take in the room, the vintage flashing screens and the smell of marinara sauce and mozzarella, “Arcades are your idea of nice?”  
“You’ve never struck me as the kind of girl who loves roses and salad forks,” Jonah shrugs, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that stuff, but I really don’t want to bore you,” He grins, a little shy, but a wicked glint in his eyes, “And I know your idea of fun is kicking Jack’s ass on Fortnite and eating more sugar than I thought a human could,” He pulls a coin from his pocket and flips it up in the air, “So, I thought you’d love this place.”  
“You’re right. I do,” You bounce on your toes, looking around, then catch a machine in the back of the room, “Oh, my god. They have Ms. Pac-Man. I haven’t seen that in years, it used to be my favorite.”  
Jonah tilts his head towards it, still smiling, “Show me how to play.”  
You take turns for a while, yours lasting minutes longer than his because he’s adorably terrible at it, and you keep dying on purpose so he won’t feel bad.  
“You don’t have to do that,” Jonah leans against the machine next to you.  
“Do what?” You blink, pretending to be innocent.  
He laughs, tapping his sneaker into yours, “I know you’re losing for me.”  
“And why would I do that?” You ask, biting down your smile.  
“I have no idea,” He shakes his head, “I know you could get the high score, or whatever, without trying.”  
“Maybe,” You concede, although this arcade must be pretty popular, since the top three places would take you hours to beat, “But I like watching you play too.”  
“You mean you like watching me lose.” He hooks a finger into your belt-loop, pulling you closer.  
“Maybe,” You repeat, beaming.  
“You’re so fucking cute,” Jonah says, then presses his mouth against yours before you can respond. He tastes like toothpaste and coffee and it shouldn’t work, but it does. His tongue plays with yours and you just might have a new favorite game.


	14. Facts (Jonah)

Idk how to explain this but I have this concept for a girl dating Jo who is super socially conscientious and very anti fast fashion and promotes eco fashion/ brands that pay a living wage, no sweatshops, is environment friendly, etc and and when the boys are on tour they stay for the weekend at her place so there’s a bunch of late night talks and they get close and her passion gets brought up and obvi the boys love fashion/ a good fit so they’d be really interested in what she has to say abt it

_Do you know how much I love a research project?_  
 _Also, dialogue/banter is my happy place <3 Thank you for the adorable/educational prompt!_  
…  
“I thought you said you had a spare room,” Jack is staring at the clothing racks lining the walls around the bed, “This doesn’t look very ‘spare’.”  
You shrug, smiling a little, “It’s storage, mostly, and studio overflow.”  
“Studio?” Zach tilts his head like a puppy, dropping his duffle on the futon.  
Jonah, somehow, talked you into hosting a band sleepover tonight after the hotel they were supposed to stay at got leaked. You said yes because you had the space, but six people crammed into your loft one top of all your work is still a lot.  
“What studio?” Daniel gets excited.  
“Not that kind of studio,” Jonah shakes his head, grinning, “It’s for fact fashion.”  
“I’m confused,” Corbyn narrows his eyes, “What’s fact fashion?”  
“It might be easier just to show you,” You lead them out of the guest room and into the studio, flipping on the lights, illuminating your piles of boxes and sewing machine and finished products. Every one of them, save for Jonah, gapes.  
“It’s a play on words, sort of,” You explain, “My brand; it’s fact instead of fast fashion, get it?”  
“Ah, no?” Corbyn raises one eyebrow, still completely baffled, “I don’t know what fast fashion means either.”  
“Oh, man,” Jonah laughs, “I hope you’re prepared to take notes.”  
“Shut up,” You elbow him a little, “You like it.”  
“Yeah, I do,” His hand sides up your back, tangling his fingers in your hair, “Your passion is so sexy.”  
“Alright,” Jack interrupts, “That’s enough of that. We all have to sleep here tonight,” He smirks, “Actually sleep, not the other thing you’re thinking about.”  
“Yeah, Jack,” Jonah ignores him, still looking at you, “I am aware of what sleep means.”  
“Back to my question,” Corbyn leans forward, “What’s a fast fashion?”  
“So,” You search for an example they’d be able to recognize, “You know those packs of tee shirts you can get at Walmart?”  
“Yes?” Corbyn drags out the word.  
“Have you ever thought about why those are so cheap?”  
“Because the quality sucks,” Jack offers, “Anything from Walmart is good for like two wears then it’s basically trash.”  
“That’s definitely part of it,” You nod, “But the bigger idea is that for the company to sell something that cheap, someone somewhere else is paying for it.”  
“I don’t get it,” Zach pouts, and you fight the urge to ruffle his hair.  
“Cheap is almost code for cheating,” You explain, “And that usually means on the people on the assembly line,”  
“Like all those horrible factories,” Corbyn makes the connection.  
Jack gets it too, “I’ve seen those stories, where people have to work thirty hours a day and sleeping in rooms without windows.”  
“Well,” You don’t smile at his mathematical failing, but it’s a near thing, “Thirty hours a day is impossible, but there’s still way too many people being forced into working inhuman shifts. Being against fast fashion is about being for those people. It’s not just about wanting quality in your clothes, but about wanting quality in the lives of the people who make them.”  
Corbyn nods, “I’ve never really thought about it like that before.”  
“So, your brand,” Daniel drawls, looking at the racks of jackets along the wall.  
“I do something called upcycling,” You take one down and show him the back, “Basically, I use vintage materials to give old jackets, usually denim but sometimes leather, a new life.”  
“She turns them into art,” Jonah insists, “Look at this,” He pulls a hanger with one of your designs half-finishes, biting lips sewn into the back panel of the denim in vintage velvet and embroidery.  
“That is sick,” Corbyn starts looking through the rest of the rack, “You have to make me one,”  
“Me too,” Zach and Jack jinx each other.  
Daniel nods in agreement too, his eyes hopeful.  
Jonah laughs, “Guys, I don’t even have one.”  
“Actually,” You cross the room to the box on your desk.  
Jonah is freezes, “Wait. Really?”  
“Maybe,” You don’t look back, and suddenly, he’s right behind you.  
Jonah hooks his chin over your shoulder and runs his hand over the lid, “Can I?”  
“It’s yours,” You answer, your heart beating so fast you think it might beat out of your chest. Jonah’s been so supportive of you but it’s still more terrifying than you imagined to give him the piece you’ve been working on for months, saving scraps of material and searching every vintage store you know for his jacket. You finally found it in New York, wide enough in the shoulders and long enough in the sleeves to fit his body, taken from a collection nearly thirty years old. It must have true black at one point, but now it’s faded to gray in places, not threadbare but worn in in a way that means he’ll be able to move in it. You left the front alone, stitched fabric to the inside of the cuffs for a bit of color when he pushes up his sleeves, and spent hours working on the back.  
Jonah unfolds it, holding it up to admire it, and the guys sees the back first.  
“Damn,” Corbyn swears, “That’s so cool.”  
Jonah turns it over, and finds his signature, scrawled across the back in your favorite fabrics. “Baby,” His voice is reverent. He carefully flips up the collar, looking at the spot he knows you place your signature, where you stitch facts about the industry, about recycling, your little attempts at save the planet, and reads instead,  
“‘Fact: I love you.’”  
You haven’t said it yet, not out loud, and this isn’t how you thought that moment would go, but it doesn’t make it any less perfect.  
Jonah looks down at you, smiling, “Is that a fact?”  
“You know I’m very committed to the truth,” You smirk.  
“God, I love you,” He mutters, cradling his jacket in one hand and your head the other to press you lips together.  
You get lost in it, his mouth on yours makes the rest of the world cease to exist, until someone clears their throat.  
“Again,” Jack sighs, “We’re all sleeping here tonight. Sleeping.”  
Zach punches him, but Corbyn interrupts too, “Yeah, and we need to discuss mine, because Jonah can’t have the best fit in the band. That’s insanity.”  
You smile, proud and bashful and so happy all at the same time. It’s not insane for Jonah to be the best dressed, he is your boyfriend after all, but it is a pretty good description of your life; Insanity, but the best kind.


	15. Red Light (Jonah)

can you write a short blurb where the reader and jonah are very flirty and comfortable around each other and whenever he’s in the studio or out with the boys he’s always daydreaming or thinking about her and they tease him and he’s just like “but SHES SO PERFECT” idkkk you can add whatever i just think it’s a cute idea

_Such a cute idea <3 Thank you for asking!_  
 _I love love love writing crushing boys._  
…  
“Dude,” Corbyn’s voice filters out from the booth, “Just talk to her.”  
Jonah shakes his head, “I don’t know what to say.”  
“Anything would be better than all the staring,” Jack rolls his eyes, “Maybe; Hi, you like coffee, I love coffee, and I’m pretty much in love with you, so, maybe we could get some together sometime?”  
Jonah smacks the side of Jack’s head, “Great idea, Jack, not creepy at all. I’ll just get right on that.”  
“You should say something,” Daniel defends, “It’s getting ridiculous. I’m starting to get concerned if you pine any harder we’re just going to walk in on you making out in the studio one day.”  
“Uh, guys?” Zach starts.  
“Not you too,” Jonah groans, “Listen, I’ll figure it out. I just haven’t yet. She’s so pretty and smart and talented, and have you seen her notebooks?” His voice is pained, “I just want to listen to her read lyrics forever.”  
“Bro,” Corbyn smirks, “I didn’t know you had it in you.”  
“Had what?” Jonah looks so done with this conversation.  
“Guys?” Zach tries again.  
“Zach, shut up,” Corbyn puts his hand over Zach’s mouth, then nods at Jonah, “I didn’t know you could get so dumb over a girl.”  
“She’s not any girl,” Jonah glances towards the glass separating you, your feet on the desk beside the control panel, and eyes glued to the journal in front of you, because you think you’re about to fall out of your chair.  
Zach stomps on Corbyn’s foot. Corbyn howls, “Jesus, Zach. What?”  
He points to the little red light glowing in the corner of the studio, “The mic’s on.”  
Jonah blinks, turning fully to look at you, “Exactly how long has the mic been on?”  
You press the button to turn on yours, feeling bold because there’s a wall between you and a whole conversation on his side validating the feelings you were beginning to think were just wild optimism on your part, “Since the last chorus.”  
“So, you heard everything?” Jonah confirms.  
You nod, “Pretty much.”  
“And you didn’t run away?” He licks his lip.  
“Nope,” You shake your head.  
“So,” He grins, “Coffee sometime?”  
“I’d like that a lot,” You blush.  
“Good,” Jonah pushes his hand through his hair.  
You spin a little in your chair, “Good.”  
There’s a beat of silence, then Jack declares, “I am a genius, and I call best man at your wedding.”  
“Hey!” Corbyn protests, shoving him, “I started it.”  
Jonah evades them, striding out of the room, leaving them to their fight and offering you his hand, “How about now?”  
“Now’s great,” You take it, and laugh at the antics of the boys behind you and the smirk of the one beside you.


	16. Naughty (Jonah)

_‘Still I’ve had no love like your love from nobody_  
 _I’d be appalled if I saw you ever try to be a saint_  
 _I wouldn’t fall for someone I thought couldn’t misbehave’ -Hozier_  
~~My sister insisted the last line had to stay. Hope you’re happy S. <3~~  
…  
You will swear until the day you die that love at first sight is a myth. Nobody falls in love in an instant.  
Except, you sort of did.  
Not with Jonah; that took months and happened in starts and leaps. That was a decision you made, something you pursued, a feeling you built together.  
But the minute you saw Zach and Jack, laughing ridiculously while switching the salt and sugar in their kitchen, you just knew. You loved them from the minute Jonah gagged on his extra-savory coffee and they loved you from your first whispered suggestion, “Have you done the thing with cayenne yet?”  
Zach calls you the three musketeers, and Jonah calls you disaster trio.  
They’re the brothers you never had, your coconspirators, your confidants and your best friends.  
Currently, they’re holding either side of a five gallon bucket of ice.  
To be fair, it’s Corbyn’s fault.  
He decided it would be hilarious to walk in on you and Jonah in the lounge, innocently watching a movie, and act like he’d be scarred for life, with one of their managers and Tyler down the hall.  
It was mostly harmless, once they realized the lights were on, but he still deserves this.  
This being the massive plastic bin of ice you’re supporting the middle of, on the roof of their venue for tonight, giggling into Jack’s shoulder while Zach keeps glancing down to make sure you haven’t missed him.  
Finally, the door opens, and you flip the container sending gallons of ice cascading down the building.  
Except; it isn’t Corbyn standing outside, but Daniel and Jonah.  
They sputter, jumping away, shaking off the ice and immediately looking up at the three of you. Corbyn steps outside then, whistling like he didn’t, somehow, orchestrate that perfectly.  
Jonah glares while Daniel coughs, and it’s so hilarious, you almost can’t run away, until Zach grabs your hand and pulls.  
It’s hours later, the show over and most everyone cleaned up and clearly out. You’ve tucked yourself into a corner of the couch, catching up on social media when you see everything you’ve been tagged in today.  
“What’s with the face, Princess?” Zach jumps the back sofa to wedge himself into the corner beside you.  
“What face?” You widen your eyes, a ploy at naivety he sees through immediately.  
He narrows his eyes, “The face. Your eyes and nose and mouth.”  
“Pretty sure I was born with it,” You sass.  
Zach pinches you, “Hey, I’m being serious.”  
“Me too,” You grin, but it feels fake.  
Jack drops into the seat next to you, his arm around your back and Zach’s, “You look like you’ve been watching sad puppy commercials again.”  
You shake your head, “I do not.”  
“Yeah, you do,” Zach laughs, jostling your shoulder, “You look exactly like that. Come on, you know we’ll get it out of you eventually.”  
“Or bring in the big guns,” Jack threatens, “Jonah hates that face more than we do.”  
“You can’t tell him,” You scramble, your hands anchoring both their thighs, like you could somehow hold them down.  
“Okay, okay,” Jack concedes, “But you’re gonna have to tell us.”  
You sigh, then rest your head on Zach’s shoulder, “I saw some stuff on Instagram…”  
“Not this again,” Jack groans.  
“Dude,” Zach complains, “How many times do we gotta tell you never to do that?”  
You stick out your tongue, “It was an accident!”  
“Uh-huh,” Jack is utterly unconvinced.  
“Do you want me to tell you about it or not?” You stare at him.  
“Yes,” Jack sighs, “Please, continue,” He gestures for you to go on.  
“Somebody saw us with the ice.”  
“So?” Zach raises an eyebrow.  
“Hey! We were fully clothed this time,” Jack protests, which is warranted, because there have been other occasions with less clothing, water-balloon fights and paint guns, that got photographed and required some extremely awkward explaining that a. you would never cheat on Jonah and b. you with either of these boys would just be gross.  
“They got a picture of Jonah’s face, after,” You mutter.  
“The grumpy old man one?” Zach confirms.  
“Yup,” You nod.  
“But that’s just an act,” Jack frowns.  
“Or, like, just his face,” Zach agrees.  
“But what if it’s not?” You demand, “It’s not a secret he’s not into this stuff, he’s so serious, it has to annoy him. Why would he want to be with, y’know, someone like me?”  
“Someone cleaver and kind and funny and hot?” Jonah asks, from behind the sofa.  
“And that’s our signal,” Jack stands up.  
You pout at him, “This is abandonment.”  
Zach rolls his eyes, following Jack, “Yeah, right. Like you don’t always wanna be alone with him.”  
“Still abandonment,” You call after them, then finally look up at Jonah.  
He slides his hands in his pockets, “Hi.”  
“Hi,” You study the sweaty curl of his hair and his half unbuttoned shirt.  
Jonah examines you in return, “You weren’t going to tell me about that, were you?”  
“It’s nothing, Jo, really,” You shrug.  
“Really?” He sits down on the sofa beside you, “Because nothing that hurts you is nothing to me.”  
“It won’t happen again.”  
“The doubt because of idiotic comments on the internet or the unexpected ice bath?”  
“The second causing the first,” You bite your lip, “I’ll quit messing around like that. I know you don’t like it.”  
“When have I ever said that?” Jonah tilts your chin up, “Never,” He answers his own question, “I have never said that.”  
“But you don’t,” You try to explain.  
“I don’t run around scheming like an actual super-villain?” He grins, “No, I don’t. Do I think it’s really fucking sexy you do? Yeah, so much.”  
“I don’t understand,” You play with the hem on his sleeve. He always smells so good when he gets offstage.  
“I love you for you,” Jonah touches his forehead to yours, his eyes so close they’re the only thing you see, “I couldn’t deal if you started acting like an angel,” He chuckles low, the deep quiet sound he only ever makes for you, “I wouldn’t fall for someone I thought couldn’t misbehave,” His voice is rough, “You’re my troublemaker, my naughty little thing. You make my life interesting, and no one has ever loved me like you do. I don’t need anybody else to know that, but I need to know you do,” He pulls you into his lap, “You know that, don’t you?”  
“I do,” You tangle your hands in his hair, and press you mouth to his. It’s wicked, more your style than his, but he meets your every move with more.  
And when Corbyn walks in ten minutes later, he might actually have something to scream about.


	17. Better Than The Notebook (Daniel)

Hey:))) can you please do one where your Anna’s best friend and you met when she moved to la and your a YouTuber and you and Daniel get in a fight and they both go to her separate to talk about it... please !!!

_Hi there! Best-friend/Older-brother is one of my favorite things to read, and Anna is brilliant, so I hope I got this right! Thank you for the adorable request._   
_…_

  
“And you’re done,” Daniel appears out of nowhere, sweeping in and tugging the cup out of your hand.  
“Daniel,” You start to complain.  
He completely ignores you, discarding the glass on a table.  
“Dude,” The cute boy who’d been refilling your drink looks at him, “She’s a big girl, she can make her own decisions.” You’re pretty sure he isn’t talking about the punch.  
Daniel puts his palm on the back of your neck and glares, “She’s seventeen.”  
“Eighteen,” You correct, it’s still new, but your birthday was last week, and he should know because he was there.  
“Whatever,” He turns away, pulling you with him.  
“Daniel,” You object again.  
“Nope,” He elbows through the crowd, “You’re going home.”  
“What about you?” You narrow your eyes.  
“I can take care of myself,” He shakes his head, and that,  
That, infuriates you,  
Which leads to an epic screaming match on the street which only ends when he finally hails a taxi and glares you into it.  
It’s spite that has you give your best friend’s address to the driver instead of your own, and you’re still fuming when you stumble into Anna’s bedroom, slamming the door behind you and crawling into bed beside her, “Your brother is a jerk.”  
She groans, drowsily, with her eyes still closed, “What did he do this time?”  
“Kick me out of the party,” You grumble, “It wasn’t even his party. He shouldn’t get to do that. I’m going to drink all the apple juice in the morning, or pour it down the drain before he gets up.”  
Anna nods into her pillow, “That’ll show him.”  
You laugh then, because it won’t. Daniel’s always kind of a jerk to you, no matter what you do in retaliation. You fall asleep smirking about the face he’ll make when he doesn’t get his juice anyway though.  
In the morning your head is pounding and your mouth tastes terrible, so you stumble out of Anna’s bed into her bathroom. You’re halfway through cleaning your teeth with the little purple toothbrush that you keep here when you catch the voices in the kitchen.  
Daniel’s morning tone, gruff and deeper than usual, and Anna’s wry amusement.  
“So…” She drags out the word, and you can picture perfectly the way she’s staring him down over her coffee.  
“How did you already hear about it?” He complains, but keeps talking, “I may have, potentially, overreached, a little, but you should’ve seen her. Plus, that guy!” He argues, “I had to get her out of there.”  
“And that was your decision to make?” Anna asks calmly.  
“I… I,” Daniel stutters.  
“That’s what I thought,” She doesn’t say ‘ah-ha’ but it’s all in her tone, “Why do you insist on doing this?”  
“Doing what?” He asks, “Looking out for her? Making sure creeps don’t take advantage of her? I don’t know, Anna. Why don’t you want me to protect your best friend?”  
Her cup bangs on the counter, “That’s not fair and you know it. There’s a difference between protective and oppressive, and you are way over the line.”  
He groans, and you imagine him running his hand down his face, “I can’t help it.”  
“And why is that, Dani?” Anna presses.  
He doesn’t respond.  
“Why is protective the only feeling you let yourself act on for her?” Anna keeps going, and you set your toothbrush down to step out into the hall.  
“Because she’s your best friend,” Daniel spits.  
“So you do have other feelings for her?” She demands.  
“I might,” Daniel mumbles.  
“What kind other feelings are we talking about here?” You beeline for the refrigerator, because there’s safety in avoid his eyes when you’re pretending to be completely cool.  
“Uh, hey,” He clears his throat, “Good-morning?”  
“Yeah,” You take the entire carton of apple juice off the shelf, “Back to your feelings.”  
“I’ll be in my room,” Anna practically skips out of the kitchen.  
“Well,” Daniel drags out the word, and you study the glasses in the cabinet. “Will you at least look at me?”  
You steel yourself. You are a grown woman and will not audibly sigh at his bedhead. When you turn to look at him, the oxygen seems to evaporate anyway. He’s shirtless, leaning against the bar, and the fact that you semi-frequently wake up to this view has had no effect on the way his body makes your heart race.  
You can’t seem to look past his clavicle, your eyes stuck between his iliac furrow and his collarbone.  
Daniel, the horrible, horrible, person he is, doesn’t bother acting like he hasn’t noticed the space your attention has caught. He stretches, ostensively cracking his back, obscenely showing off, “I might,” Daniel steps closer to you, “I might have not-so-friendly feelings towards you.”  
You swallow, looking into his eyes, “And would those be Plotting-My-Death kinds of feelings or Curious-What’s-Under-My-Clothes kinds of feelings?”  
There is fire in his eyes, the kind you realize suddenly is always burning around you, “The extremely curious what’s under your clothes kind,” Daniel slides his hand around your waist, “Are you very opposed to that?”  
You shake your head, certain the only thing you’re capable of thinking about is just how many millimeters are currently between his torso and yours.  
“Wanna give me an answer with words?” He grins.  
“I like you too, you jerk,” You push at his shoulder, not remotely hard enough to move him away from you, and mostly to get your hand on him.  
“Now kiss,” Anna demands, loudly, sticking her head out of the hallway with an insane smile on her face.  
“Anna,” Daniel groans, and you throw your head back and laugh.  
“What? This is better than The Notebook,” She stomps her foot, making you and Daniel both stare at her, before demanding again, “Now, kiss.”  
You don’t actually kiss then, because your best friend, his sister, witnessing your first kiss is objectionable on a million different levels, but when you do, it is way, way, better than The Notebook.


	18. Charred (Corbyn)

It had all been going fine.  
Christina had been on FaceTime with Corbyn, doing her homework and half-heartedly supervising his attempt at making breakfast, when suddenly something started beeping urgently.  
“Uh,” Christina peered over at her phone, “Babe?”  
“Ah,” Corbyn coughed, “What did you say the oven was supposed to be on again?”  
“Three-seventy-five,” She set her pen down.  
“Right, right,” He nodded way too quickly.  
“You set it on four-seventy-five, didn’t you?” Christina could barely keep the fondness for him out of her voice, even when he was about to burn his apartment building down.  
He disappeared from the frame, the fire-alarm still going off, and a sudden suspicious cloud of grey appearing in the kitchen.  
“Cor?” Christina suddenly got more concerned.  
“I’m fine, it’s fine, everything is under control,” Corbyn answered, coughing between every word, setting a pan of bacon directly on the, thankfully, granite countertops, then sliding across the kitchen to push open the window, still wearing his oven mitts.  
“It really looks under control,” She laughed, watching the smoke dissipate and listening to the glorious sound of silence after the alarm stopped.  
Corbyn, because he is helpless in the face of her perfect laugher, paused to smile at her on his screen.  
Then the siren started blaring again.  
“You forgot about the eggs,” Christina stated the obvious.  
Corbyn winced, spinning back to the oven and pulling his pan off the burner before shutting it off. He poked at the eggs inside gently with the spatula Christina bought months ago but he hadn’t picked up until this morning, “Charred is in, isn’t it?” He tried to spin it, “People order charred stuff in restaurants all the time.”  
“Not eggs,” Christina bit her lip.  
Corbyn looked around the kitchen contemplating, “Would a raw bagel kill me?”  
“Don’t trust yourself with heat anymore, Besson?” Christina teased.  
“Just can’t wait to eat,” He bluffed.  
She shook her head, “No, raw bagels won’t hurt you.”  
“Good,” Corbyn pulled one from the package, loaded his blacken bacon and charred eggs on it, then slapped it down on a plate. He presented it to her over FaceTime with a flourish as if he’d just made Eggs Benedict from scratch instead of a burned breakfast bagel.  
“I don’t think you’re going to win Bake Off anytime soon,” Christina smirked, “That sandwich looks like some ass.”  
Corbyn laughed around her description, the way her accent shaped those words made him want to hear her ridicule all his kitchen attempts forever. His first bite caused another coughing fit, and Christina smiled in victory, “Told you.”  
Corbyn rolled his eyes, deciding to clean up before forcing more of his ‘food’ down, singing under his breath, “And I can’t cook, yeah, you will have to do everythingggg…”  
“You’re lucky you’re cute and I love you,” Christina picked her pen back up, resuming her assignment, but making plans in the margins for how best to stock his freezer next time she was in Los Angeles.  
Corbyn just keep grinning, “Don’t I know it, babe. Don’t I know it.”


	19. Worried (Daniel)

Your writing is amazing! Could you do a blurb where you've been sick for a couple weeks and boyfriend!Daniel is on your and super worried, then one day you get the all clear from your doctor, so you go surprise him backstage before the concert?

_Thank you so much! It really means so much to me to hear that. Worried boyfriend!Daniel is adorable and I loved writing this. I’m sorry it took so long!_   
_Inspired in part by my perfect goddaughter, G., who caught mono, then gave it to almost everyone in her family, including all three of her aunts and her uncle. She’s still perfect though._   
_…_

You were certain, until five weeks ago, that mononucleosis was a bug overzealous middle schoolers caught, and not monogamous college sophomores.  
Then your niece came home from preschool with it and no one in your immediate family was spared from it’s infectious spread.  
When all you wanted in the world was to be held in Daniel’s arms, fever dreams and fatigue rendering you nearly helpless, you instead had to threaten to barricade your door to force him to stay away during the last weeks before tour in his best interest. It had been miserable.

Now, you’re outside a venue in New Jersey, doing your best impression of a glare at the security guard, even though you know it isn’t his fault, and calling Christina for an assist.  
“Hey, babe,” She answers the phone, already talking a mile a minute because the girl has no other speed, “You have such excellent timing. They’re in the middle of a sound check,” She says ‘sound check’ like ‘root canal’ and you understand. Daniel’s voice is your favorite thing in the world, but you can only listen to him sing the first three words of Big Plans so many times. Christina keeps talking, “I can’t believe I haven’t spoken to you in a month. I’ve missed you like crazy, I can’t believe you aren’t here,”  
You interrupt her, smirking, “Well, then you should probably come let me in?”  
“Oh my god, you’re here?” She is practically screeching, “Daniel is going to cry. I swear to God, he’s been pouting since they left California and this morning, he explained, in detail, the entire story of how you got mono from, and I quote, ‘the world’s cutest four-year-old’ in no less than three different interviews.”  
You just shake your head, because your entire medical history is probably floating around Instagram by now, and he’s too sweet to get mad at.  
Christina, having jogged through the venue in heeled boots, shoves open the door and past security to throw her arms around you. You’re laughing into her when she finally lets you go.  
“Wait, you’re not contagious anymore, right?” Christina checks, linking her arm through yours anyway.  
“According to my doctor, you’re safe,” You stride past the guard, and don’t stick your tongue out because you’re an adult and respect that he has a job to do. You think about it though, extra loudly.  
Christina fills you in on the past few days, about Daniel sobbing himself to sleep, which you’re sure is an exaggeration, and Zach eating an entire box of cereal for breakfast, which you’re positive is true.  
When you finally reach the front of the auditorium, Christina is still talking, but your attention is solely focused on the man in the pink beanie on stage in front of you.  
“Really?” Daniel is complaining, staring down his bandmates, who you’re guessing just missed their cue, “What’s your excuse this time?”  
Jack smirks, “You’ll like this one,” He declares, then tilts his head your direction, “Your girl is here.”  
“My what?” Daniel starts to ask, then spins on his heels to find you. He’s sprinting across the stage before you can begin to protest.  
He jumps, landing in front of the barrier and barreling towards you, “You’re here.”  
You’re engulfed in his arms, your nose smashed into his chest and smiling.  
“What are you doing here?” He leans back slightly to look at you, “Are you better? Are you cold? You should be wearing a coat,” He runs his hands up and down your arms, “Tyler, where’s my hoodie?” He calls out, then tugs you back into his chest, muttering into your hair, “How are you here? Why aren’t you in bed?”  
“I missed you?” It’s not a question, but he’s holding you so tight your voice breaks, “I got on a plane? I’m fine now?”  
“You’re really okay?” Daniel looks at you with so much concern in his eyes, you can’t help melting.  
“Better than okay,” You start to smile.  
“You’re really here?” He asks as if he’s dreaming.  
“I hope so,” You smirk, “Because I’m going to be really disappointed if I wake up alone again.”  
Daniel laughs, bright and thrilled and maybe you still have a fever because you feel like you’re floating. “God, I missed you,” He cradles your face in his hands, “Never do that to me again.”  
“Get sick?” You can’t help teasing him a little.  
“Lock me out,” He attempts seriousness, and is foiled by Jonah yelling, “Daniel, just kiss her already.”  
And so he does.  
And you know it’s real, because it’s so much better than you could ever dream.


	20. Exposed (Daniel)

Hey girlie 🌸. Could you do a Daniel where your dating and your best friends with David And they vlog squad and they have a big party and the boys are invited. But you and Daniel are really mad at each other and are avoiding each other the whole time. Idk you can pick the ending that’s just my idea. Thank you 😝💗

_Hi! So, I definitely read this prompt, and then promptly forgot some of it while I was frantically writing in the middle of class since I thought it was so great. I’m still going to post this, because I like how it turned out, but if you’d like to see a version closer to your original idea, just let me know_   
_…_

  
You‘re at the gym when the calls start, away from your phone and blissfully unaware of the trending page wrecking havoc your image.  
David’s vlogs, exactly four minutes and twenty seconds of ridiculousness posted on YouTube, do occasionally get your name trending.  
The time with the tarantula, and more enjoyably, the time the koala, even if you did have to live with his four thousand idiotic chlamydia jokes, have made you a little bit famous.  
You played your part well this week, only half-acting terrified and angry about the flame thrower at his the party, and utterly resigned to his latest merch pitch for solo cups with his face on them. But it isn’t your acting that everyone is talking about;  
Instead, it’s the six seconds of reality playing in the background during David’s monologue, you sprawled in Daniel’s lap, his mouth on your neck. Daniel’s whispered suggestions that the microphone, thankfully, didn’t catch, and your frustrated reaction, flinging yourself off his lap and stalking away from him and the crowd.  
It’s the horrible kind of funny that your reluctance to tell anyone about your relationship blew up so spectacularly that now everyone knows a week after it’s over.  
David is continuous dialing you, your phone lighting up with his name again immediately after you dismiss it, and when you answer, he immediately starts apologizing, “I’m so fucking sorry,” His voice is panicked, “I can take it down. Tell me what you want me to do. I’ll do whatever you want,” He rushes out.  
You knock your head into the gym lockers, and groan, frustrated even if you’ve already forgiven him, “It’s not your fault, David. From what I’ve seen, I wouldn’t have caught that either….”  
“So I should take it down?” Something rustles on his side of the line, and you interrupt.  
“No. Don’t take it down,” You groan again, “If you take it down it’ll get worse.”  
David sighs, miserably, “I just want to make it better. I’m so fucking sorry,” He pauses, “You know I wanted you to come out with it, but I know you had your reasons, and I never would’ve put you out there like that,”  
“I know,” You shake your head. David is a excellent filmmaker, but in spite of his self-manufactured role of careless ringleader on the internet, he’s actually a really good friend.  
“I want to do something,” He starts brainstorming.  
You slam your locker shut, laughing even when you feel like crying, “I think you’ve done enough.”  
David insists on staying on the phone with you until you get home, trying to come up with ways to bribe his way into the forgiveness you’ve already given him, and keeping you from checking Twitter. You hang up on him though, the second you see the silhouette of the person waiting at your door.  
Of course, Daniel’s here, leaning against your doorframe looking like a model slumped down in his hoodie, looking like he belongs there.  
“Daniel,” His name spills out.  
“Hey,” He pushes his hood down, his eyes bloodshot like he hasn’t slept in days.  
“What are you doing here?” You play at nicety, which has never been your game.  
Daniel’s eyes go dark, “I thought we should talk.”  
You want to respond, ask him cheekily, ‘about what?’ but you know the position that question would put you in, and can’t bring yourself to do it.  
“Inside,” You declare instead, sliding around him to unlock the door.  
You’re three steps into the hall, the door shutting after him when he says, “Beautiful,”  
“Don’t call me that,” You snap.  
“Why?” He counters, so close behind you swear you can feel his breath on your neck.  
“You know why,” You finish kicking off your shoes, and in an instant, he spins you and gets you pressed against the wall.  
Your wrists are caught in his hand, so big it only takes one, held above your head, and his other hand braces your hip to the wall. You know you let him do this, that he would stop the second you said the word, and you’re defenseless.  
“The thing you were so afraid of happened, and the world didn’t stop,” Daniel stares into your eyes.  
“It’s been two hours. Give it a day.” You try for sass, but mostly sound sad.  
“No,” He grinds against you, “I’ve been without you for a week, and even if the world is going end from this, I want us to be together, beautiful,” His long fingers tighten around your wrist bones, and you feel his concern, his love, and for the first time since you walked away, relief.  
You feel every millimeter between his lips and yours, and want it gone, “I want you until the end of the world too,” You mumble almost into his mouth.  
“What’s that?” Daniel has the audacity to pull away, and grin.  
“I want you,” You speak up, even while you blush.  
“Good,” He whispers, “Because this time, I won’t let you walk away.”


	21. Thrifting (Daniel)

Oooh I just saw Daniels story of him at the thrift store can you do one where you guys go with Angi and her boyfriend I can be anyone

_I love love love this prompt, and could have written so much else, but his relationship with Angelina makes me so happy, and so I wrote this instead. I hope you like it!_   
_…_

  
You couldn’t lie, pretend, at least a little bit, that it hadn’t worried you, at the beginning, that Daniel’s best friend is an actual model. That he unabashedly loves her. That she is genuinely stunning, smart, insanely funny, and possibly Daniel’s favorite person in the world. Then you realized she is the worst possible match for him.  
Daniel’s silly, in the quiet kind of unassuming way, wisecracking and generally sweetly ridiculous and impulsive, but always in the background. That side of him, around Angi, takes over. If she’s in the room, he permanently looks like they just set Zach up to say something dirty in order to watch him blush, or else, they just silently decided to jump from the balcony to the pool fully clothed. You can’t help adoring her for it, the way everything serious quits for him if she’s around, but you only had to spend ten minutes in their combined presence to understand why they will never end up together.  
Together, they’d get evicted from an apartment so full of random antiques and succulents, it would merit a hoarding reality show, because they would forget to pay their bills, and wind up forfeiting the keys to their car in a pingpong game they thought they could hustle and instead loss everything including the shirts off their backs, which is a real thing that happened once.  
You and Daniel though, you guys are a balanced, steady, solid, sorted, kind of thing. You have type of relationship people build lives around, never explosions but constant sunlight. Your relationship is not a rollercoaster, because you are perfect copilots.  
Which means on days like this, days when for weeks you’ve only seen him dragging in from and out to the studio, exhausted in every sense of the word, days when he looks close to losing it and done with world, when he’s spent the night before holding you so tight you could hardly breathe, you know you are not the only person he needs.  
On days like today, he needs chaos. The reminder of who he is when he isn’t forcing himself to adult and fighting for every opportunity to make his dreams come true. He needs your smile at the way he pretends to busk with every badly tuned guitar he sees and he needs Angi daring him to pick up something else, play something he hasn’t before, push boundaries for the fun of it, the art of it, the moment, but never the opportunity to make something from it. You’re wondering around a thrift fair and watching them do increasingly ridiculous things, her boyfriend, shy but completely enamored with her and unfazed by Daniel’s recent warning of retribution should he ever hurt Angi, walks beside you, chuckling under his breath when they attempt to scale a temporary wall and eat dirt instead. “Why are they such klutzes?” He muses, and you just laugh.  
“Because that’s how they keep each other grounded.”  
You might’ve been jealous of Angelina, but now, you just love her too. How could you not, when she gives your heart scraped up knees and makes him smile like that?


	22. Neanderthal (Zach)

heyyy can you write one for zach where he gets in a fight over the reader and while the reader is cleaning him up she suggests that they break up so he’ll stop fighting and he freaks out? saw something like this on another blog, really liked it

_There is something sweet about misguided chivalry, and this was really fun to write, but I wanted to put a quick note here; guilt is generally toxic and there is a very fine line between safe conversations about feelings and emotional manipulation. I hope this reads on the side of maturity, but please please please tell me if it doesn’t_   
_…_

  
There’s blood, dripping from the gash above his eye, and a bruise already forming on his jaw.  
Zach, petulant and pleading, sits on the edge of the bathtub in this stranger’s en-suite while you search under the sink for a first aid kit, and sigh, “You can’t keep doing this.”  
He says nothing, and when you glance over at him, he’s studying the ceiling.  
“I mean it, Zach,” You declare.  
You pile gauze, Neosporin, cotton rounds, and butterfly bandaids on the counter.  
Zach pouts, “He was touching you.” He definitely should not look that cute with busted knuckles.  
“And I had it under control,” You step between his knees to swipe at the blood on his brow, “You’re lucky you didn’t get killed,” With Zach sitting and you standing, you have a slight height advantage, which is a switch from your usual view. When he rolls his eyes at your statement, you feel the way his head moves between your hands and then his flinch, when that gesture pulls open his cut.  
“This is so stupid,” You narrows your eyes at the fresh red pooling on his face, “You could’ve gotten really hurt, maybe even broken something. What if he’d gone for your throat?”  
“I had him,” Zach protests, forgetting you were standing next to them.  
“You got lucky,” You repeat, “Twice,” You remind him. The guy he punched last weekend thankfully recognized Zach and backed off instead of escalating, “Promise you’ll stop doing this?” You press the bandage to his clean forehead.  
“Not gonna happen,” He mutters, flexing his fingers, testing them, and further infuriating you.  
“Then maybe we should break up,” The idea occurs to you as the words leave your mouth. It’s the last thing you want, but the only thing you want more than Zach is Zach alive. It’s the worst kind of bargain, but he’s forcing your hand.  
“You don’t mean that,” He immediately reaches for you, tilting his head up to look into your eyes. His hold on your hipbones is nearly painfully tight, and he finally looks serious.  
“I do,” You fight back the tears, “I mean it as much as I mean that you can’t keep doing this,” You put your hands on his shoulders, trying to keep your distance.  
Zach is suddenly standing, pressed so close to you, you feel instantly warmer, and your head swims from the change in perspective, “I can’t,” Zach starts, “I can’t stand watching anybody make you uncomfortable. I know how much you hate crowds, and loud noises, and,” He tilts his head towards the door, the sounds of the party raging on the other side of the wall, everything you despise, “I know you just come to these things ‘cause I like them, and,” He bites his lip, “And you were having fun, finally,” Zach’s smile is pained, but real, “Dancing a little,” He doesn’t make air-quotes around dancing but you think he would, if he wasn’t anchoring himself to you, the tiny bit of sway you had in your shoulders did not count as dancing, and you both know it, “And he grabbed you, and your face went all,” Zach frowns, and doesn’t say ‘blank’ because you don’t need him to, to understand that’s exactly what happened. That guy you didn’t know grabbed you and you lost all the color in your face and froze. “And I just saw so much red,” Zach leans down, pressing his forehead to yours, “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again, I swear. We don’t ever have to go to another party again either. I like you more than I’ve ever liked any of this.”  
“Zach,” You try to reason with him, but your hands, still on his shoulders, slide up into his hair.  
He grins, viscously victorious, “You know you’ll never get away from me that easy,” He jokes, his hands moving down, then pulling you up, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively, and you groan, because you hate it when he’s right.  
“We still need to talk about your behavior, you Neanderthal,” You pull his hair a little.  
“At home,” He moves towards the door.  
You start laughing, “You’re really going to carry me out of this party, aren’t you?”  
Zach chuckles, “You’re the one that called me a caveman.”  
You bury you head against his shoulder, hiding your smile. All of your fear and hurt and anger never stood a chance against his smirk.


	23. Dutch (Corbyn)

hey could you possibly do one for corbyn where either he/reader moans into an innocent kiss? just like cute cute cute cute

_Oh my gosh._   
_So into this._   
_I almost never get Corbyn prompts, (I adore him with Christina, so I completely understand why) but thank you for sending this in!_   
_Also; cute cute cute cute is my favorite series of adjectives._   
_…_

 

You aren’t supposed to be in his bed.  
You‘re supposed to be in the guest bunk, asleep, and definitely not playing footsie with your boyfriend at three o’clock in the morning after he just performed a sold out show.  
Corbyn had other ideas though, waiting until everyone else had shut their curtains, then texting you, ‘come up here’  
It was the only sane option, really, to follow his command.  
You try to be quite, sliding out of your bed and climbing into his, biting your lip when he pulls you over his body to cage you in between the wall and his chest.  
Corbyn’s smile, just the corners of his mouth and barely visible in the dim lighting of his bunk, makes your heart skip a beat and you can’t help running your hand through his wet, freshly showered and still soft, hair.  
His fingers find the hem of your shirt, not a proposition, but a destination for his fidgeting, and he mutters, “Liefje.”  
That whispered endearment does things to you, and you wiggle in his arms, just a little.  
Corbyn’s smirk grows, and he leans in to kiss your nose.  
You tighten your grip on his hair before he can move back, then press your smile to his.  
It’s gentle, so gentle, at first.  
Tiny, innocent, kisses.  
And then he has to go and move his hand.  
It’s the barest brush of his fingers on the inside of your hip. His callused hand almost resting on your delicate skin, hardly moving at all, but you just can’t help it, the noise he pulls from your chest.  
Your hushed moan sparks something in Corbyn, and he can’t help responding, one unbidden sound from you reduces him to a broken record, absolutely groaning, “Liefje, liefje, liefje.”  
You push impossibly closer to him, forgetting where you are, what your name is, everything outside of him, for a brief second before;  
“Goddamnit, Corbyn,” Jack bangs his fist into the side of the bus, in his bed directly beneath you, “You have got to learn some different Dutch.”  
And then Zach laughs so hard he falls out of his bunk.


	24. Backstage (Daniel)

Can you do one for the 8 letters tour and you visit Daniel and during the meet and greet your in the back by Tyler and Christina and a fan asls uoy to pose with them in it and it’s just super cute and you watch the shows from the side with Anna

_Of course! You have so many adorable ideas, and I tried to get in as many as I could, because I love these kind of scenes, since their family relationships are so, so sweet. <3_  
…

Tyler is overprotective. That’s why he’s so good at his job, and how he’s become the boys’ de-facto bodyguard even when that isn’t technically what they’re paying him for. You appreciate it, so much, the knowledge Tyler is there to swoop in and save Daniel the second someone gets too clingy or tries to drag him too far into the crowd.  
You appreciate it a lot less, when his arm suddenly wraps around your waist to lift you away from the sweetest fans you’re talking with before the show. Maybe one of them was holding your wrist a little too tight, but they were just excited.  
“Tyler,” You protest, when he sets you down three feet further back, echoing the complaints of the girls in front of you.  
“Sorry, ladies,” Tyler doesn’t look sorry at all, “Gotta be careful with this one.”  
You purposefully step on his foot, “I’m not fragile.”  
Tyler doesn’t even flinch, “But you are precious,” He tugs on your hair, and when the girls in front of you ‘aww’, he grins, “Gotta keep my favorite little sister safe.”  
“I’m telling Anna,” You start to look for her, smiling at the girls’ laughter, when Daniel appears, draping his arm over your shoulder.  
“Hey, cutie,” Daniel pulls you closer to him and away from Tyler, making you stumble a little into his side, “What are you telling Anna? Is that guy bothering you?”  
“Tyler said she’s his favorite,” Someone in the crowd sells him out.  
Daniel chuckles, almost awkwardly, while he narrows his eyes at his brother, “Well, that’s impossible. You can’t be his favorite because you’re mine.”  
You shake your head, while Tyler rushes out, “I said she’s my favorite sister.”  
“Well, in that case,” Daniel drawls, really laughing now, and Anna appears beside him.  
“Excuse me?” She stares down her oldest brother, and Tyler looks completely unrepentant.  
“As if I’m your favorite brother,” He rolls his eyes.  
“But I’m not actually your sister,” You point out, because you are, however, obligated to tease him anyway.  
“Not yet,” Tyler grins, then bounces back when Daniel drops his arm to move like he’s going to hit him. They fake box their way back into the center of the room and Anna shifts to glare at you, “How, exactly, did you manage to make everyone love you the most?”  
Anna is more like Tyler than her middle brothers, more pensive and quiet than either Christian or Daniel, in a way that requires knowing her to know her banter, but luckily you do.  
So when your audience ‘oohs’ at her deadpan question, you smirk, “Don’t worry, babe, I can be your favorite sister too.”  
At least you’re expecting it, when this Seavey initiates physical contact, pinching you while smiling with her eyes.

Anna’s admitted defeat, both to the loss of her status Tyler’s favorite sister and to you being as hers, by time the boys go on. The two of you have spent every night of this tour crowding together in the curtains with Christina, the three of you half-hiding and holding each other to keep from falling onto the stage when you try to scream loud enough for the boys microphones to pick it up. You’re certain Eban only hates you all a little.  
It’s not your favorite way to watch Daniel, from the side of the stage, you prefer your private concerts. The times you can convince him to play just for you, sometimes in hotel rooms, often the back of the bus, and occasionally after sound check, the two of you sneaking back into the venue and Daniel using the echo of the stadium to sing acoustic versions of all the songs he wrote with you in mind.  
You can’t help smiling though, watching him now under those big bright lights, singing his heart out and glancing at you whenever he can, wedged between your best friends while he dances with his twenty feet away, and you think, this definitely isn’t the worst way to watch him either.


	25. Understanding (Jack)

He can’t shut up about Hannah.  
Hannah loves walks on the beach and peanut butter and cuddling, and you are considering the cost of taking out a hitman.  
Not to murder Jack’s new girlfriend, but maybe to send her a vaguely threatening letter, or possibly the severed head of a rocking horse.  
The thing is, you had an agreement. You and Jack have been friends since elementary school, through those awkward years before you found Invisalign and he discovered hair-perming, and you’ve always had an understanding. It’s the two of you against the world, and someday, it’s just going to be the two of you forever.  
Only, not now. Not while his career is so crazy and you’re practically living in your college’s library. Not when you can talk to each other everyday, but only see each other a couple times a year.  
It’s not the right time for you, not yet, but neither of you want anyone else.  
Or, at least, that’s what you thought, before Hannah. Now, it’s Hannah this and Hannah that and you maybe have started tuning him out the second her name comes up because it feels a lot like someone’s taking a sledgehammer to your heart every time he says he loves her.  
Somehow, you still find yourself in Los Angeles for spring break, staying with Jack and attempting not to act like the past few weeks of nonstop talk about Hannah haven’t destroyed you.  
If he notices, he doesn’t bring it up, instead launching into another story on the way from the airport, about how fast Hannah is when she’s running and how he had to change his skateboard wheels to keep up with her that you mostly ignore.  
“I can’t wait for you to meet her,” Jack’s basically bouncing on his toes, unlocking door to his apartment when you finally come back to earth.  
“Wait,” You freeze, “She’s here?”  
He gives you a look, “Where else would she be?” He pulls the door open, calling out, “Hannah?”  
It seems to happen in slow motion, Jack dropping to his knees and this tiny fuzz ball launching itself at his chest.  
“Oh, my, god.”  
Jack stands up, holding it now, “Hannah, remember we talked about this. You have to be on your best behavior, because I really want her to like you.”  
“Oh, my, god,” You repeat, watching Jack lecture a puppy.  
“Wanna hold her?” He grins at you, like that’s even a question.  
You drop your bag and steal her right out of his arms, “Oh, my, god.”  
Jack laughs, pulling your bag inside and shutting the door, then crossing the room to address the puppy in your arms, “Well, I think we might’ve broken her, Hannah.”  
“Wait,” You finally break out of your shocked repetition, looking up from the pinnacle of fuzzy perfection at Jack instead, “This is Hannah?” The incredulity in your voice makes Jack narrows his eyes.  
“Of course,” He scratches behind her ears, but stares at you, “This is the girl that stole my heart,” You must make a face, because he pauses for a beat, then starts to grin, “You didn’t think….” His smile turns wicked, “You thought Hannah was a person.”  
“No, I did not,” You squeak, turning on your heels still cradling the puppy.  
“Yes, you did,” Jack slips around to stand in front of you, “Admit it?” He asks, tipping your chin up to look in his eyes.  
“Fine,” You pout, “I might’ve, sort of, thought Hannah was your girlfriend.”  
Jack just beams, “You’re so dumb.”  
You lift a hand from Hannah’s fur to shove his shoulder, “Shut up, loser.”  
He laughs, “I’m not the one that thought they’d been replaced by a dog.”  
“Can’t be replaced in something you aren’t,” You glance away, squeezing the puppy just a little, “I’m not your girlfriend, Jack. Remember?”  
“Hey,” He presses his face closer to yours, giving you no choice but to meet his eyes, “We both know that’s a just word. You’re it for me, babe. Don’t ever doubt it.”  
There’s so much conviction in his voice, clear and strong and determined the way he is about the important stuff, all the things you’ve always loved best about him, and you really don’t know how you ever doubted him. Of course, it’s you and him, forever.  
You, also, really don’t know how you’re ever going to live this down, when Jack finally understands why you’ve been so distant lately and ends up rolling around on the floor laughing, “You thought I replaced you with a girl that would do anything for peanut butter on a spoon!”

 

_Many thanks to @xxoverthinkersanonymousxx, for being adorable and encouraging and naming this fictional puppy,_   
_And to N., and our dear Romanian, who inspired this plot. I hope you’re happy with Little O. for many, many years to come, and cannot wait to meet the human girl who will someday steal your heart. N., I will giggling at your willful ignorance forever. <3 _


	26. Apologizing (Zach)

hey, can you write one for zach where he breaks up with her to protect her from hate but then realizes he can’t live without her and tries to get her back?

_Of course! Angst and groveling are both things I don’t think I’m especially great at, but I hope you like this anyway!_  
 _Little gentle reminder; be good to each other. The internet doesn’t make bullying any less real, or any less painful. There are actual people on the other side of every profile._  
…  
You’re standing in the chaos of travelers arriving at LAX, feeling weary and exhausted but also more like yourself than you have in weeks. Christina, by chance, happened to be in Los Angeles this week, and promised to pick you up when you got back, except now she isn’t answering her phone.  
A suspiciously familiar sports car pulls up to the curb in front of you, and the sigh that leaves your lungs could probably be heard in Hawaii.  
The boy responsible for your impromptu trip home rolls down the passenger side window, and leans over, “Hey, shortcake, need a ride?”  
Your grip on the handle of your suitcase goes white, “Don’t call me that, Zach.”  
“Sorry,” He has the decency to wince, “Can we talk?”  
“Here?” Your voice is rises about six octaves in pure disbelief that this is happening.  
“Ah,” Zach runs a hand through his wild hair, destroying it with his nervous habit, “I was hoping on the way to your place.”  
“I have a ride,” You look away from him, desperately hoping to spot Corbyn’s car.  
“I offered to buy their lunch, if Corbyn got her out of the house,” Zach starts to explain.  
“Christina wouldn’t have abandoned me for that,” You glare, and Zach sinks a little deeper in his chair.  
“I, might’ve,” He stutters, “Potentially, told her your flight got delayed.”  
“Z,” You sigh.  
“I needed to see you,” He pleads, “Please, just let me drive you home.”  
You tell yourself that it’s this or the insane Uber charge and he at least owes you this much, while you toss your suitcase in his backseat then fold yourself into the chair beside him.  
You’re both quiet for a while, the radio playing something you can’t place, the sounds of traffic floating in through the window you cracked and Zach’s steady familiar breathing, before he finally speaks.  
“I made a mistake,” His voice is lower, rougher, than you’ve ever heard it, “And I’m so sorry. I thought I was protecting you, but I know I just made it worse, and I’m not proud of how I acted and I just,” He lifts his hand off the steering wheel like he might reach for you, but instead sets it down on the gearshift, because every line of your body is screaming back off, “I want you back.”  
“This isn’t fair, Zach,” You bite your lip.  
“It’s honest, this time,” He protests.  
“Fuck your honestly,” You spit out, “I’m okay now, you don’t have the right to do this,” You turn as far away from him as you can, glaring out the window, “I wasn’t, when you walked out. I needed you, when everything seemed so bad, and instead you just blew us up, blew everything up, when I just needed you to stay, and,” You brush the tears off your cheek, “I’m okay now. I didn’t know if I could be, without you, but I am, and you can’t just,”  
“Of course you’re okay,” Zach’s voice is unyielding, “You have never needed me. You were always going to be okay,” He does touch you now, his palm gentle on your knee, “But I have to know if you could want me again? Because I don’t want anything the way I always want you.”  
“Zach,” His name breaks in your mouth.  
“Please,” Zach thumbs over your skin, “You don’t have to forgive me right now, but please let me try?” He begs, “I’ll do everything right. I’ll win you back, if you just give me another chance.”  
“I,” You watch his profile, his face still your favorite view, even when you should hate him, “I’m going to need time, Zach.”  
“That’s not a no,” His hand gets a little tighter on your leg.  
“I want flowers,”  
“Done,” He nods.  
“And to drive your car sometimes,”  
He finches, “If that’s what you want,”  
“And you have to promise that you won’t unilaterally decide what’s best for me ever again,”  
Zach pulls over, parking the car on the side of the street, and turning to frame your face in both his hands, “I will never do that again,” He stares into your eyes, “I could never leave you again. These past few weeks have been the worst of my life.”  
“Okay,” You finally agree, holding on to his wrists, and his smile makes your heart race.  
“Okay,” Zach whispers, and then leans closer, “Does that mean I can kiss you now?”  
You shove him away, grinning, “Why don’t you just get me home first, Herron. You still have a lot of apologizing to do.”  
“I can’t wait,” He smirks, shifting gears, and you just really love him, terrible decision making and all.


	27. Kissed Better (Jack)

heyy, can you do an imagine in which Jack has been getting tons of hate so when you hear him crying his his room when visiting the boys, you’re immediately there to comfort him and make him feel better and in that time both of you confess your love for each other?

_*waves* Hi! This is such a sweet idea._  
 _*whispers* And the second request in a row I’ve gotten that references hate, so can we all just agree to be kinder to each other, and the boys? The idea of any of them hurting just breaks my heart._  
…

On the day the guys moved into this house, Jack gave you his key.  
Not, as you assumed, a copy of his key, or a spare, but literally his only key.  
It still makes you grin, thinking about his awkward, ashamed, adorable voicemail, asking if you would please get a second key made because none of his bandmates would, after finding out he gave his first one away.  
You picked a key shaped like an electric guitar, and got to watch him act like that was his plan all along, to have “the most badass key to the house” in front of his friends while you got to keep his original shiny sliver one on your keychain.  
You use it more than you even anticipated you would, sneaking into Jack’s room when he’s on tour, because your best friend has the best sweatshirts and also because sometimes you miss him and just have to cuddle his pillow.  
You use it now, even though the guys are all home, because they’re distracted with something in the living room, whisper-yelling at each other and ignoring you knocking on the door.  
You march right past them, when you realize Jack’s curly hair is missing from their huddle, but can’t help noticing Zach’s indignant face and Jonah’s frown.  
“I said I don’t want to talk about it,” The lump of blankets in the center of his bed growls when you open Jack’s door.  
You shut it behind yourself, “Well, that’s too bad,” You cross the room and fling yourself into the space beside him on the mattress, “Because I like talking.”  
Jack makes a noise halfway between a snort and a sigh, and fights to turn over still encased in his comforter cocoon, “I didn’t realize it was you.”  
“Well?” You tug the blanket down, trying to get a look at his face.  
“I really don’t want to talk about it,” He mutters, not helping at all.  
When you finally get him free, you notice how red his eyes are, “Jack.”  
“Peaches,” He croaks, and this is how you know something is very wrong. Jack only ever tries nicknames as a distraction.  
“Jellybean,” You reply seriously.  
“Pumpkin,” He closes his eyes, “Can you please just let it go?”  
You shake your head, “No can do, Juicy Fruit.”  
That one makes him laugh, not a lot, but enough to clear his eyes a little, “That’s the worst one yet.”  
“You just called me ‘peaches’,” You protest, and he rolls his eyes.  
“Peaches is cute.”  
“Jack,” You move further into his space, “I don’t want to talk about your weird thing with petnames right now. Tell me what’s going on?”  
He stares up at the ceiling, “There’s this stupid video going around, about me, and why I’m leaving the band, or should leave the band, and people actually believe it, or some of them do, and it’s insane, I’m not, I wouldn’t,” He hiccups, “I don’t want,”  
“Hey,” You wrap your arms around him and use all your strength to squeeze, “Hey. People are the worst sometimes,” You don’t have to see this video to know exactly what it’s like. So-called fans make them all the time, about all the boys, and occasionally they get traction. You know it’s normal, just how the world is for someone as famous as Jack, but it still makes you impossibly angry that that kind of negativity gets turned on your favorite person, “But you are the best, and you’re not going anywhere.”  
Jack leans into you, his eyes closed, his voice so defeated, “I’m just,”  
Too good for this world. Too kind and gentle and big-hearted to ever deserve this kind of torture. “Too interested and invested in social media and need to take a break?” You suggest, “That’s exactly what I was thinking,” You squeeze him again, “Where’s your phone? I’ll change all your passwords for you.”  
Jack huffs, not quite a laughing, but not crying anymore either, “Why are you like this?”  
“Because I love you?” The answer spills out before you can consider it, too heavy to take back now that it’s off your tongue and way too much for this moment. You freeze, one hand tangled in Jack’s curls, the other searching the bed for his phone, and somehow you muster the bravery to keep your eyes open.  
He blinks. Once, twice, three times, then yanks one arm free from his blanket swaddle. He stops, millimeters from resting his palm on your cheek, “Are you for real?”  
You swallow, and decide since he hasn’t kicked you out of his bed yet, you might as well keep going, “I’m in love with you.”  
The moment the words leave your mouth Jack’s whole being lights up, and you think, for approximately one second before he kisses you senseless, that you’re going to have to start saying that all the time.  
You’re interrupted, way too soon, by Zach flinging himself into the room, then snickering, “Ah, man. I’d have kissed you better too, if I knew that’s what you needed.”  
“Zach,” Jack’s back to growling, but this time for a very different reason.  
“I’m just saying,” Zach smirks, “If I’d known all you two needed to get your act together was some waterworks, I would’ve hit you with a frying pan, or something, months ago.”  
“Zach!” You throw a pillow at him, and he leaves the room still laughing, calling out to the rest of the house, “I guess Jack’s fine, but we should probably invest in some earplugs now!”  
Jack groans, leaning forward until his forehead touches your shoulder, “Change your mind yet?”  
“Never,” You kiss the top of his head.  
He looks up, his perfect brown eyes sparkling, “Just in case it wasn’t obvious, I’m in love with you too.”  
“Oh, I know,” You shrug, nonchalant, fighting your smile.  
“Oh, you know?” Jack echos, faking outrage, and pining you to the bed.  
“I mean,” You shrug again. Jack moves his hands and the minute you realize his agenda you start trying to get away, “I mean, thank you?”  
“Oh, no, you don’t,” He traps you, then tickles you until you scream and Zach yells from somewhere downstairs, “See! I told you we need earplugs!”


	28. HBD (Daniel)

You’ve been knocking on his door long enough that you’re starting to consider texting in reinforcements, namely Zach and his frankly worrying skill with a paper clip, when you finally hear movement inside the room.  
Daniel’s voice is the quintessential whiny little brother tone, grumbling, “Tyler, it’s too early. You promised, and it’s my birthday, and you said,” He yanks open the door, immediately freezing when he finds you on the other side. He blinks, “You’re not Tyler.”  
You feel the corners of your mouth quirk up, his wild bedhead and the awe in his eyes make you feel like you’re the one still half in dreamland, “Surprise?”  
Daniel fully wakes up then, letting go of the door to get both arms around you, pressing you so tightly against him all the air leaves your lungs.  
You let him hold you, while you hold him, in the doorway of his hotel room for a long time, just breathing him in, and smiling against his sternum.  
He eventually steps back, his hands still holding your arms, looking you over like he can’t believe his eyes, “You’re really here?” Daniel’s voice is so tired, shows nearly every night and a serious lack of sleep already starting to grate on his vocal chords, but it’s still the best thing you’ve ever heard.  
“Happy Birthday,” You lift your shoulders, shrugging a little, and smirking.  
“Thanks,” His voice cracks in the way it rarely has since his surgery, and his eyes seem stuck somewhere around your knees, “Um, are you wearing anything under that coat?”  
His question, asked in earnest, in his most innocent voice, makes you tilt your head back and laugh. You push him towards the bed, walking his sleepy form backwards until he practically falls on it, “Why don’t we get some more sleep, and then you can find out?”  
For a second, you think he might protest, but instead he reaches up, and pulls you down beside him on the mattress. You’re lying sideways from the headboard and too charmed to care, when he tightens his arms around you and whispers into your hair, “I’m so fucking happy you’re here. I love you so much.”  
He’s snoring, before you can say it back, but you’ve got a feeling he already knows.

  
_Happy Birthday to this absolute sweetheart, twenty is going to be so good to you, I just know it. <3_


	29. Instinct (Zach)

a zach concept: you used to be in an abusive relationship and you and zach get in a really bad fight and you think he’s going to hit you so you flinch away and he feels terrible

_This is definitely outside of my comfort zone, which is a big reason I started taking requests, and I think this subject is really important, but first;_   
_If you or someone you know is in a relationship that feels unsafe, or even just uncomfortable, there is help, and you deserve it._   
_The National Domestic Abuse Hotline can be reached at: 1-800-799-7233, or on their website anytime._   
_Finally; there’s cursing and mentions of past abuse here, so if those are triggering for you, please skip this one._

  
…  
“Well, something is bothering you,” You snap, moving to stand between him and the television, sick of his mood, his general grouchiness, and the way he is completely ignoring you.  
“Jesus Christ,” Zach growls, standing up from his seat on the sofa, “I told you it’s nothing.”  
It’s the combination of him raising his voice, of his choice of words, ‘it’s nothing’ reverberating through your brain in a way that is too similar your ex-boyfriend’s favorite insult ‘you’re nothing’, and suddenly your body seems to realize how much bigger Zach is, and so;  
You flinch.  
It’s meek, not weak, but little, your body’s defensive mechanism, making yourself take up less space, become a smaller target. You fold, under his anger. It’s pure instinct, and you’re helpless.  
Zach notices immediately. His face, his beautiful red cheeks and fiery eyes, lose all their color in an instant, “Shit,” He whispers, “Baby,” He starts to reach for you, then freezes, his hands outstretched, holding nothing.  
“It’s okay,” You shake your head, “I’m fine.”  
“No,” He chews at his lip, “I am the worst person on the planet. You’re not fine, and it’s my fault,”  
There’s real tears in his eyes, ones you can barely see past the ocean welling in yours, “No,” You start to protest.  
“Can I?” He beckons gently with his hands, “Can I please touch you?”  
You slide your palms against his, interlacing your fingers, and he sits down again, giving you the height advantage but keeping that connection, and you let the feeling of your hands together center you.  
Then he starts explaining, “We decided Jack should get the solo I wanted,” Zach’s voice is ashamed, “And I didn’t want to tell you because I feel bad that I’m upset about it. He does it better than me, and he deserves it, and I’m so damn proud of him, but I’m just annoyed that I didn’t get it, and that makes me feel like such an ass,” He looks up at you, “But I shouldn’t have raised my voice, or stood up that fast,” He’s biting his lip again, “I’m sorry,” You can tell he wants to keep talking, but it’s the fact that he doesn’t that finally makes your pulse slow down. Apologies don’t count if they’re followed by anything except an offer to learn what can be done better, and Zach knows that, knows you don’t need another explanation, you just need to hear it.  
You fall into his lap, leaning on him, tucking your head down to listen to his heart, and he blows out a breath.  
“I’m sorry,” He whispers, his mouth on your temple, “You have to know I would never. Never ever,” His voice is barely above a murmur, “Nothing you could ever do could ever make me hurt you like that.”  
“I know,” You whisper, wrapping your arms around him, clinging now, “I just couldn’t help it.”  
“You don’t need to help it,” Zach scoffs, gently, running his hands up and down your spine, “It was not your fault. I just need you to promise you know that I will never hurt you.”  
“Promise,” You uncurl a little, leaning up kiss him once, “I know you wouldn’t. You’re my safe.”  
It’s a promise he made you, a long time ago, when he was just your neighbor and you were more broken than the bruises you tried to hide; Zach told you, with the most mature expression you had ever seen on his face, that he knew he wasn’t anything to you yet, but he was safe, and he would keep you that way.  
It’s a promise he reenforces now, tucking you hair back behind your ear, murmuring, “Always,” and you believe him; that’s instinct too, the way it has been, since the very first time he said it.


	30. Second-Best (Zach)

can you write a short imagine where the reader has feelings for zach, but sees him kissing another girl. she she’s kinda heartbroken and ever since that happened she spends more time with jack. one day zach sees her with jack and he’s holding her hands while showing her how to ride his skateboard and making her laugh and zach doesn’t understand why he’s jealous and confronts her about his feelings?? sorry if thats confusing but i’d love to see this idea written out 🤩

_So, this is super adorable. I tweaked a couple things, and definitely missed the short part, but I hope you still love it_

  
…  
You’ve been threatening to learn for months, basically since you got here and realized that Zach uses a skateboard as his primary mode of transportation, so when you and Jack find yourselves alone in the kitchen on Saturday morning, and he wiggles his eyebrows with an offer you can’t refuse, you find yourself staring down the driveway and wishing you owned elbow pads.  
“Okay,” Jack lifts his boot out from under the front of the board, after explaining the mechanics and fixing your footing, “The most important thing to remember is you are way more valuable than that piece of wood, so if something goes bad, or you feel like you’re going to crash,” He meets your eyes, all serious, “Bail, Princess. Jump ship, do not pass go, whatever you do, don’t put yourself in danger.”  
“I think I got it,” You look up from your sneakers to study his face, “Jack, why are you doing this?”  
“Doing what?” Jack squints, walking backwards down the driveway away from you.  
“Being so nice to me?” You scrunch up your nose. You and Jack started off with a more contentious relationship than you had with the other boys, both of you reluctantly jealous of the other’s place in Zach’s life. You’ve slowly gotten closer, and you guess you’re basically best friends now too, but that still doesn’t explain why he’s sacrificing his one day off and his safety to help you.  
Jack scuffs his shoe against the concrete, “I saw you last night.”  
“Oh.” You don’t need to ask what he saw, because there’s only one thing he could’ve seen that would make him incapable of looking you in the eye, and that’s the moment you saw Zach making out with a stranger, dropped your glass and fled the building. You bite your lip, “Do you think he’s really this blind?” The alternative, that he’s choosing not to notice is almost unthinkable, even if you’re starting to think it’s true.  
“I think he’s just,” Jack finally looks up, “Not that smart,” He beckons you forward, cautioning, “Now, go slow.”  
“Yeah, I got that,” You shake your head, pushing off to make the wheels start spinning, “Do you think I should give up?”  
“On skateboarding?” He tilts his head to the side, and if you were closer, you’d smack him.  
Instead you roll your eyes, “No, you idiot, on Zach.”  
“You really trust my opinion on that?” He grins.  
“I trust you! You’re my second-best-friend,” You admit, begrudgingly.  
“Second best?” Jack laughs, “Gee, thanks.”  
“You know what I mean,” You wave towards him, then immediately put your hand down when you start to wobble on the board, “You love him too.”  
Jack shrugs, “I mean, yeah, but,” He starts to smirk, “I’ve seen Zach naked, Princess, and unlike you, I don’t ever wanna do it again.”  
“Jack!” You yelp his name, blushing and laughing and totally forgetting about gravity and how picking your foot up off the ground on a hill will make the board accelerate.  
You’re suddenly speeding toward the bushes and Jack, somehow, manages to snag you by the waist at the last second, stepping swiftly to the side so you don’t run over his toes, and stopping you from hitting the hedges, “What did I just say about bailing?” He tries to scold you, but is laughing too hard to pull it off.  
You giggle together for a minute, at Jack’s dumb, but not untrue, joke, and your mutual near death experience.  
Then, Zach interrupts, “What the fuck is happening here?” His voice is harsh and angry in a way you’re completely unprepared for.  
Jack, to his eternal credit, doesn’t jump. He gently lifts his hands off you, then turns to look at Zach, “What does it look like, Zachary?”  
“I,” Zach loses his bravado the second Jack is no longer touching you and he can see the skateboard under your feet.  
Jack looks between you, then nods almost to himself. He brushes past Zach, knocking their shoulders together and whispering just loud enough for you to overhear, “Get your shit together, Bro, or you’re going to lose her.”  
Zach watches him walk away, then steps closer to you, “What’s he talking about?”  
“I have no idea,” You pick up the board, not looking at Zach.  
“You’re a horrible liar,” Zach huffs, suddenly in front of you, pulling the skateboard from your hands and tossing it behind him.  
“Hey!” You protest.  
“I’ll teach you how to ride it later,” He doesn’t stop moving, getting into your personal space now that your makeshift shield is on the ground behind him.  
“Jack was doing just fine,” You grumble.  
“I really, really, don’t want to talk Jack right now,” Zach looks down at you, toe to toe and breathing your air.  
“Why?” You push, because you are suddenly so, so tired.  
“Because,” Zach declares.  
“Because what, Zach?” Months of frustration find their way into your tone and if Zach’s confused by it, he doesn’t show it.  
“Because,” He forces out, “I don’t want to think about anyone else to touching you.”  
You laugh, bitterly, “But you can touch whoever you want?”  
“I,” You can almost see the gears turning inside his brain, “You saw that,” He pieces together, “Last night. That’s why you disappeared.”  
“I didn’t disappear, Z,” You swallow, “I came home because I can’t stand anyone else touching you either.”  
For a second, Zach looks like the ground has been swept out from under him and he’s not sure which direction is up, then his vision clears. He reaches for you, his hands landing on the same place Jack’s just held, but feeling entirely different, “Dude. Why haven’t you said anything?”  
“I don’t know, Zach. What exactly do you expect me to say?” You stick you tongue out at him, deciding you don’t have a choice now, “Hey, Z. I know we’re just friends and you call me dude more often than you call me by my name but I’m pretty much in love with you and every time you do that stupid open mouth smirk, I just want to kiss it off your face?”  
“That, ah,” Zach coughs, fighting his smile, “That works.”  
You open your mouth to start apologizing before what he says registers, then your jaw snaps shut. You blink, “Are you serious?”  
“No, I’m Zach,” His eyes are glowing.  
You groan, “Why do I like you again?”  
He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours, “You more than like me,” His voice is prouder than you’ve ever heard it, and you were in the room the first time he got a million views, “You love me.”  
“I said pretty much,” You object.  
Zach scoffs, “Don’t be ridiculous, you don’t do anything halfway. You love me.”  
You groan again, and he smirks. “Maybe,” You concede, his fingers inching under your sweatshirt making you bold, “So what are you going to do about it?”  
“This,” Zach says, almost against your mouth, “Love you back,” he mumbles into your first kiss, and it feel like something you could do forever.  
Or, at least until Corbyn turns the sprinklers on, yelling out the kitchen window, “Leave some oxygen for the rest of us, geez. Kids these days, so inconsiderate.”


	31. Hurt (Jonah) (Jack)

Could we please have a Jonah one like the cut Daniel one, it's adorable

_Of course! I have this problem of too many ideas all at once, and I couldn’t shake either of these, so…_   
_Two for one special on Hurt!Boys? (Hope you think these are adorable too)_

  
…  
Jonah.  
You saw it, the instant before it happened. You knew, the moment he put his weight on that table it was never going to hold, and you were still a second too late, “Jonah!”  
This bus is nicer than any they’ve had before, but monogrammed cutting boards and new coffee machines or not, there’s still nothing especially sturdy about it.  
Jonah’s buzzed, high on life and Vegas and you, on his best friends’ laugher and maybe that last drink he snuck in at that club before you had to be back, and it takes a minute for everything to catch up with him;  
the crack of the granite, your shocked warning, and then his fall.  
He’s sprawled on the floor, still somehow holding his water bottle and dazed, for a breath, and then you see his face crumble.  
Daniel’s still recording, Corbyn’s quick with a joke and a hand to pick him up, while Jack and Zach cackle, but you ignore them all, shoving your way through them to get to Jonah’s side, your eyes glued on the pain you can read so clearly in his eyes, “Jo?”  
“I’m okay,” He hisses, and that’s what makes the other boys freeze. Daniel pockets his phone and Corbyn tilts his head, “Bro?”  
Jonah, suddenly sober, bites his lip and glares at his ankle, “I, ah, I think I landed wrong.”  
You carefully, so carefully, move between his legs, crouching down into the tiny space left on the floor there, and gently wrap your hand around the foot you saw take the worst of his crash, “Can you flex it?”  
Jonah nods, then moves his foot, grimacing but not screaming. You look up from his injury to find the overly close and concerned faces of his bandmates, “Well?” Jack looks at you, tapping his foot, and in any other situation you would pinch him.  
Instead you look at Jonah, “The good news is I don’t think it’s broken,” There’s relief on his face you feel in your heart, because he’s worked so hard on every bit of this tour, and would be so heartbroken if he had to miss even a single step, “But,” You look back at the rest of boys, “The bad news is I’m not a doctor, and it could be sprained, so I think we need to stop at an ER.”  
Jonah groans, and the rest of the boys start scrambling away, “I’m not telling Tyler!” Daniel practically leaps backwards, and you would roll your eyes, but you’re too grateful that they’ve finally left you alone with Jonah.  
“How bad does it hurt?” You sit down beside him.  
He leans his head back, staring up the ceiling, “It’s not that bad.”  
“And how bad do you want me to be the one to tell Tyler?” You run your fingertip over his jawline.  
He presses his lips together to keep from smiling, “So bad.”  
“You owe me,” You giggle, pressing a kiss to his cheekbone, then stand up, “But I guess I love you enough to tell him it was an accident.”  
“Hey!” Jonah chuckles, “It was an accident.”  
“Right,” You drag out the word, completely unconvinced, “That’s what we’re calling gross negligence and shenanigans now.”  
He catches your wrist before you can walk away, and you recognize the look in his eyes before he even opens his mouth, “You should watch your mouth, honey, you know your big words turn me on.”  
“Jonah!” You squeak his name, blushing instantly, and then deeper, when you hear Tyler yelling it too. This boy is so much trouble, but there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him anyway.

  
…  
Jack.  
“Dude,” The tattoo artist picks the needle up from Jack’s forearm, “I really need you to sit still.”  
Jack’s face flushes, “Sorry,” and he braces himself better, planting his feet firmly on the ground when the machine starts back up again, but he still flinches, just a little, when it touches his arm.  
You fight back your smile, “You have other tattoos, Avery.”  
“It still hurts,” He pouts, looking away from the the black marks being drawn into his arm for the first time since they started. He meets your eyes and looks absolutely pitiful. Then, the artist drags another of the longer lines in this piece, and Jack curses, “Fuck.”  
“Do you wanna hold my hand?” You’re helpless to your smile now, because Jack in real pain, from something he didn’t choose, would hurt you, but watching him struggle with this, what you know is essentially a bee sting, is just too cute.  
“Maybe,” His mouth is a straight line, but his eyes scream yes.  
You almost skip over to him, across the little booth, and stand in front of his chair for a second, watching his muscles flex while he tries to keep from moving.  
You glance at the other person in the room, “Can I?”  
You’re not sure, exactly, what you’re asking permission for, but the artist consents immediately, “Sweetie, do whatever, just keep him still.”  
So, you climb into his lap. Jack’s eyes go wide and you can almost hear his pulse jump as he reprimands, “Babe.”  
You grin, sliding your hands into his hair, “What? I’m holding you down.”  
His free arm wraps around you, his fingers slipping into the waistband of you jeans, “This is a bad idea.”  
“You love bad ideas,” You remind him, tugging one of his curls out to watch it spring back into place.  
He laughs, low and deep, warming your core and making you fight not to squirm, “Yeah, I do…” Jack’s teeth on your neck, and his grip turning harsh, making the denim of your pants bite into your skin, make you forget exactly what you were trying to do here in the first place.  
It’s the tattoo artist’s chair squeaking, and their voice asking, “Alright, let me know what you think,” that finally reminds you, but you can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed for instigating this way-too-public display of affection, because Jack smirks when you lean back, still a little disoriented and weak, and declares, “Best tattoo ever,” without even looking.


	32. Bedtime Stories (Corbyn)

It might have started as a ploy, a way to make Corbyn pay attention to you, even when his head was somewhere else. When your legs crossed over his, and his arms folded over your knees, didn’t feel like enough.  
It might have started as a bribe, a way to make you to like video games, even when you couldn’t so much as find the R1 button on a controller. When you couldn’t care less about the plot, and the graphics weren’t enough to keep your attention.  
It might have started as a truce, that he would rather shoot things on the PlayStation than watch Netflix, and you would rather scroll through Instagram than see another season of whatever reality-esque show his latest fascination has lead him too.  
It might have started with the captions, with the text bubbles, the things you would miss when you were looking at your phone then bother him by asking, ‘What did they say? Why are you going that way?’  
But it doesn’t really matter how it started, only that it’s your routine now. If Corbyn’s playing a game, and you sprawl out on the couch with him, he narrates it for you. He reads the captions, sure, but also voices the characters, describes the scenery, the weapons, the creatures, the clothes; he reads his games to you like a story, and because you could listen to him read a phonebook and never get tired of it, it’s one of your favorite parts of living with him.  
Neither of you think about it, when Jack and Zach invade your living room, demanding to try Corbyn’s newest game, and you fold yourself into his lap on the sofa to watch their attempts. Corbyn, because this is what he does, immediately starts explaining the story to you, and it doesn’t take long for the boys to start interrupting. Zach practically leaps out of this seat, “Look at the size of that snake!”  
“Zach,” You don’t even look up from your phone, despite copying his wide-eyed tone exactly, “The point of Corbyn talking so much is so I don’t have to look at the snake.”  
Corbyn ignores you both, using his best Gandalf voice to read another caption, “The Lotus of,”  
“Right,” Zach talks over him, “But look at it!”  
You decide to ignore him too, and absolutely don’t look up at it.  
Corbyn continues carefully explaining, even when he hands the controller off to Jack, who dies in the first thirty seconds and beats out Corbyn to read, “Death,” like ‘knockout!’ and neither of you can help laughing at that one.  
A few minutes later, when Corbyn is trying to explain that they might have to murder a fictional monkey by saying, “It might be like the Yeti, babe, don’t get attached. They’re sort of ugly anyway,”  
Zach loses it again, even thought now it’s his turn with the controller, “Oh, my god. Are you going to cry? You’re going to cry, aren’t you? He’s made you attached to them,” Zach’s practically bouncing, “He described them as cute, didn’t he? Don’t worry, they’re actually like really creepy human monkeys.”  
“I like this better when you aren’t here,” You grumble, even though Zach’s enthusiasm is kind of adorable.  
Zach drops his controller to throw his arms around you, and exclaim, “You love me!”  
“Not nearly enough for this,” You mutter, even while you pat at his back.  
Corbyn, because all of this has taken place nearly in his lap, reprimands him, “Zach, unhand her you fiend.”  
Which immediately causing you and Zach to lose it, giggling together and repeating his insult, “Fiend.”  
Corbyn, somehow, manages not to blush, while explaining, “This game is very Medieval!” Then steals Zach’s controller off the floor to take control of the game, and continue his narration like that didn’t just happen, “These mountains,”  
And that’s when you think, with startling clarity, this is the voice that will read your babies bedtime stories.  
It’s not that you haven’t thought about it before, about the future, about having a family with him, it’s impossible not to, when he’s acting like a child with every kid that comes to a meet and greet, and tossing your cousins in the air during every family vacation.  
But that’s always felt hypothetical, like potential, possibility, probably, and something about this feels concrete. It makes you slide closer to him, wrap your arms as far around him as you can, and mutter against his shoulder, “I love you so much.”  
Corbyn doesn’t pause, doesn’t seem to catch the enormity of the moment, leaning down to kiss the top of your head, without ever stopping his momentum in the game, “I love you too, babe,” He says, in his own voice, then slips back into the Batman tone he’s been using for this character to explain whatever he’s doing on the screen.

You’ll tell him about it later, when the boys have gone home and you’re getting ready for bed, and he’ll just grin, charmed and confident, in a way you know he sometimes struggles to be but never with you, and it’ll hit you all over again, how lucky you are to do life with him.

 

_*I have about a dozen things in my inbox to write, and I promise I’m working on them, but this is based on a real thing my favorite person does, and my mostly real thoughts about him. I think I might want to use this concept in a longer piece later, but I just really didn’t want to forget the feeling of it now. <3_


	33. Princess (Daniel)

Can you do one of they get a break for your and have double date to Disney world with Daniel and you go with Tate and Jonah

_Small Confession: despite having annual passes for a time as a child, I actually haven’t been to Disney World in ten years (however, ask me to write about Universal, and I can tell you an exact strategy to ride every rollercoaster in the park before dinner) so! This is bits and pieces of, probably faulty, childhood memories and vague because of that. I hope you enjoy it anyway!_

  
…  
You had been there since they opened, bouncing on your toes outside the gate, holding hands with Tate even though both of your boyfriends were right behind you.  
You did the big rides first, anything that might turn your stomach before lunch, and now you’ve been snacking all afternoon, pretzels shaped like the Mickey ears on your headband and enough churros Daniel’s threatened to cut you off.  
Daniel, who despite having been in the Happiest Place On Earth for hours, seems to be getting more grumpy by the minute.  
You’re looking over the pictures Jonah just took, you and Tate sandwiched between Peter Pan and Tinker Bell, then Peter Pan getting on one knee to present you with a rose, when you glance up and notice Daniel’s frown.  
You send Jonah and Tate off, promising to find them in a few minutes, and corner Daniel on a bench half-hidden behind a ballon cart, “Well?”  
He blinks, pretending to be clueless, “Well, what?”  
“You’re pouting,” You poke at his cheek.  
Daniel shakes his head, “No, I’m not.”  
“Come on,” You move your hand towards his ribs, “I have ways to make you talk.”  
He flinches away, but finally looks like he might remember how to smile sometime this decade, “It’s just…”  
You lay your hand down on his thigh, “I’m listening.”  
“It’s just…” He drawls, then rushes out something that sounds an awful lot like, “They all keep calling you princess.”  
You bite your lip, because you can not laugh, “You’re upset because the characters keep calling me princess?”  
“That’s my name for you,” He sticks his bottom lip out and is, quiet possibly, the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen.  
“You’re upset because the characters call me by the same nickname you do?” You confirm.  
“Peter-fucking-Pan gave you a rose too,” Daniel spits, just when you thought you couldn’t love him more.  
“Dani,” You turn his face towards yours, because you need him to see the sincerity in your eyes, instead of listening to the amusement in your tone, “You’re jealous of the boy who will never grow up,” You kiss him once, fast because you’re haven’t forgotten where you are but it feels too necessary not to, “When I’m madly in love with the man you are. You don’t have any reason to feel that way.”  
“But,” Daniel bites his lip, “He can hold your hand in public, Princess, and,”  
“And if I cared about that I would’ve mentioned it, I don’t know, probably a year ago, before we started dating,” You shake your head, “I want you, and every rules and regulations that comes with that too. So what we’re not supposed to hold hands? I get to hold you when you’re sleeping, and nothing is better than that.”  
“Not even roses?” Daniel, finally, smiles.  
“Not even roses,” You take the flower from behind your ear then toss it in the trash, glancing at him over your shoulder, “Now, let’s go find Tate and Jonah before they get themselves in trouble.”  
Daniel sands up, still smiling, “This place is designed for children. I don’t know what kind of trouble you think they could find,”  
“I think Jonah had Instagram open, and you know how bad he is at remembering to turn off location tagging.” You remind him, and suddenly Daniel’s speed walking. You grin, chasing him through the park, to find them being mobbed because Jonah can’t instagram.  
Daniel snags you before you can interrupt, his arm around your waist while he whispers in your ear, half-playfully, “Think they’ll notice if we disappear now?”  
“Absolutely.” Tate’s already looking at you with ‘help’ written all over her face.  
“Wanna do it, anyway, Princess?” Daniel asks, like there’s more than one answer to that question.  
“Absolutely,” You laugh, taking his hand and running. You’re going to get hell for this later, from Jonah and Tyler and Tate, but it’s worth it, for the way Daniel laughs all the way back to the bus.


	34. Listening To You, part three (Jonah)

could you make a part three of listening to you?

_Hi, so, I’m the worst (read: absolutely drowning in school work and real life at the moment) and I’m so sorry this took so long, but I hope you like it!_   
_If you’re new, you can read part one and two in chapter 13._

  
…  
“So, she’s still out?” You recognize the footsteps before the voice, half-asleep and you still can recognize the way Jonah walks, following Jack’s slower but somehow more spastic stomping.  
“I guess,” Jack decides, pulling the door to his room open, the hinge creaking and light barely filtering in through the blanket you have pulled over your head, “What did you need to talk about, dude?”  
Jonah pauses, somewhere near the doorway, and you start to move, make a noise or something so he knows you’re there, but then he says your name, and you just;  
Freeze.  
Jack maintains your curiosity will eventually kill you, but in the moment, you can’t possibly help it.  
“My best friend?” Jack jokes, “What about her?”  
“I, ah,” Jonah exhales, “I think I’m in love with her.”  
“You think?” Jack asks, and you can picture perfectly his raised eyebrow.  
“Yes, jackass,” Jonah half-laughs, “But also kind of know.”  
“Well,” Jack drawls, “That seems like a you problem,” and you can picture the finger-guns he’s currently directing at Jonah now too.  
“Bro,” Jonah groans, “Really?”  
Jack chuckles, “I’m just messin’ with you. You know I love her too,” His voice gets muffled a little, as he walks into the closet, “So, what’s the problem?”  
“I don’t know how to tell her,” Jonah sits down heavily in his Jack’s desk-chair, the wheels squeaking underneath him, “She’s brilliant and hilarious, and into all kind of stuff I don’t even understand,” He huffs, but even that sounds enamored, “And I could listen to her talk about forever, and,”  
Suddenly your blanket is tossed off and there’s a boy on top of you.  
Jack smirks, “And she’s listening to every word we say because she’s a little creep who snores in her sleep and I’m not hearing any snoring?”  
You pout up at him, elbowing his thigh, whining, “Jack,” at the same time Jonah uses his name as an expletive.  
Jack just laughs, climbing off you, “And now we’re even,” He waits for your reluctant nod, then bounces towards the door, yelling after slamming it, “If you do anything in there, you owe me a new one.”  
“A new bed?” Jonah chokes.  
Jack calls back from the hallway, “No. A new room!”  
You and Jonah finally lock eyes then, and neither of you can help the ridiculous laugher that follows.  
Jonah pushes his hand through his hair once he’s caught his breath, “He’s an idiot.”  
“He’s our idiot,” You correct, and he grins.  
“So…” You drag the word out, sitting up in Jack’s bed, watching Jonah’s face.  
He, adorably, blushes to his forehead, “I, ah,” He licks his lip, “Wanted a smoother way to say it. He said you were out.”  
“Passed out sleeping…” You shrug, “Do you mean it?”  
Jonah nods, standing up and moving to sit in front of you on the bed, “Yeah. I do,” He tucks your hair behind your ear, “Do you think you could,”  
“Love you too?” You lean into his palm, “Jo, I already do.”  
He smiles, his perfect thrilled one, the one that crinkles his eyes and makes your heart start skipping beats, “I’m going to kiss you now,” He leans in.  
“I really fucking hope so or,” You grin, against his mouth, and he swallows the rest of your sentence.  
You’re thirty seconds into the best kiss of your life, when the door to Jack’s room bangs open and what appears to be an entire box of condoms gets pelted at you. “Safety first!”  
When you turn towards the hallway, Jack’s standing in the doorway with a hand over his eyes.  
“Oh my god,” You fall back down on the mattress, biting your lip to keep from laughing.  
“Goddamnit, Jack,” Jonah curses at him, but you can tell he’s barely keeping it together too, “Why are covering you eyes?” He sighs, “Pretty sure you’ve seen us both without clothes on before.”  
Jack sputters, “Dude! Not together!”  
“Oh my god,” You groan, “Put your hand down. We’re not naked, you nutcase.” Jack spreads his fingers, then after confirming you’re still dressed drops his hand completely. You shake your head, “Exactly how fast do you we can get naked anyway?”  
“I don’t know about you,” Jack leans against the wall, “But I think Jonah just snaps,” He illustrates by snapping his own fingers, “And then; panties.” Jack does jazz hands in a circle and, for a second, you mourn the incredible make-out that was about to take place, before launching yourself at your best friend. You get Jack on the floor, tickling him and wrestling with all the strength in your body, while Jonah just sighs, “I can’t believe I signed up for this,” His tone sounding a lot more like, ‘I can’t believe I got this lucky’ even while you pin Jack down and make him scream.


	35. Moon And Back (Daniel)

hellooo, is there any way you could write maybe a short imagine in which you’re friends with the boys, even live with them maybe and you were just having a rough day so Daniel finds you outside at night when you were thinking and cheers you up and even confesses his love for you under the moonlight :))

 

_Moonlight love confessions are the best kind of cheesy and I loved writing this so, so much._   
_Quick Note; I was the girliest of girl children, owning not one but two Barbie Jeeps, and all the ballet slippers. My best friend, in contrast, was always catching bugs and mixing the contents of her family’s refrigerator together. Her parents tried their best to thwart that behavior, but joke’s on them, because now she’s studying to be an astrophysicist._   
_So, my apologies, O., for any scientific inaccuracies, and all the thanks for answering my million science questions forever._   
_…_

  
“Hey, you,” Daniel’s voice floats across the balcony, a teasing half-whisper in your direction, “I’ve been looking all over for you.”  
“Sorry,” You shrug, pulling your shoulders in, “I didn’t think anyone would notice, it’s so loud in there tonight. I just… needed some space.”  
The band house is never just the boys, always siblings and friends and girlfriends, and you love it. How alive it is, how it’s permanently six seconds from a full-on riot, how chaos is steeped into the walls of this place and how that lends itself to a very particular kind of creativity, but tonight it’s next level, screaming and splashing and Corbyn tossing Christina into the pool, and it’s just too much.  
“I get that,” Daniel folds himself down into the chair beside you, “So,” He drags out the word, “You escaped us to play with Corbyn’s telescope?” He reaches for it, but stops himself before his fingers land on it.  
“I’ve always liked them.”  
“Really?” Daniel raises an eyebrow, not skeptical, but curious.  
“Yeah,” You explain, “I desperately wanted a telescope for Christmas when I was six. I begged for one, asked Santa for one, and cried when I didn’t get one on Christmas morning. So,” You grin, “My brother asked for one for his birthday, and gave it to me the next day.”  
Daniel smiles too, “He seems like a really good brother.”  
“He’s the best,” Your tone is vehement.  
“So you’re sick of the noise and homesick?” Daniel asks, wryly, but with experience, not pity, shining in his eyes.  
You shrug again, feeling especially vulnerable, “I guess so.”  
“That’s okay,” Daniel sets his hand on your knee, gentle and friendly, or so you try to remind yourself. “Tell me about what you were looking at,” He gestures with his other hand towards the telescope, “I always thought there were too many cars to see anything up there from LA.”  
You smile, correcting him, “It’s pollution from all the lights, not the cars, that interferes with what we can see from here, but,” You move the telescope slightly towards him, “I wasn’t looking at stars anyway.”  
Daniel nods, but frowns, half-confused and completely adorable, “What were you looking at then?”  
“The moon,” You adjust the angle for him, “Look.”  
“But the moon isn’t even full,” He protests even as he follows your command, “Oh,” His breath catches, “You’re gonna have to tell me what I’m looking at,” He demands, softly.  
“Those are mountains and their shadows,” You’re aware your voice is awed and excited, but you can’t help it, “Some of them are the same height as the ones we have on earth,” You bite your lip, studying the sky now too, “The best time to see them isn’t when the moon is full, actually, because shadows give definition, and those are more prevalent when the moon isn’t entirely lit up,” When you’re finished rambling, you glance over at Daniel, who isn’t watching the sky anymore, but looking at you. “What?”  
He shakes his head a little, “I could listen to you read the dictionary and find it fascinating.”  
“Um,” You swallow, “Thanks?”  
Daniel smirks, “It’s a compliment.”  
“If you say so,” You roll your eyes.  
“It is!” He insists, and you can’t help laughing.  
“There’s a lot of adjectives I’d like to be described as, Seavey,” You scrunch up your nose, “And ‘fascinating’ has never been one of them.”  
“Can I guess?” He leans closer to you, and doesn’t give you time to answer, “Intelligent? Funny? Stubborn? Sweet? Beautiful?”  
You’re barely conscious of your head moving up and down in agreement. You would take any of those, especially from him.  
“You know I think you’re all those things, right?” Daniel slides his fingers over your cheeks, holding your face in his hands.  
“I,” You suddenly forget how to form words.  
“I think you’re fascinating, baby, because I’m totally transfixed by you, everything you do is kind of mesmerizing to me. I just want to be wherever you are, listening to talk about whatever it is you’re doing all the time. I noticed the minute you left the room tonight.”  
Your hands land on his wrists, and you aren’t sure if you’re trying to anchor him in place or move him away, “I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”  
Daniel is so close you can almost taste his aftershave now, and you spare a thought to acquiring some to blanket your bed in, it’s so ridiculously good, “I think you do.”  
You close your eyes, then open them, almost daring him, “Say it anyway.”  
“I love you,” He replies instantly, “I love you so much it’s crazy. I love you to the moon you clearly love so much and back, and I think, I hope, you feel the same, and if you’ll let me, I’d really like, if you want me to, to kiss you. Now.” He’s so confident, in so many ways, but the way he stumbles over that sentence is what does you in.  
He isn’t wrong, you’ve been, at least a little bit, in love with him since you laid eyes on him, and every day you spend with him only multiples that feeling, your heart doubling in size at every one of his smiles, and bursting, at that perfectly imperfect confession.  
“I would really, really like that,” You whisper, in the second before his mouth touches yours, “Because I love you to the moon and back too.”


	36. Wingman (Daniel)

Could you do an imagine where the reader doesn't drink alcohol simply because they don't like it, with Daniel or Jonah? For me it's always a worry when meeting new people especially boyfriends friends as people do find it odd here in the uk

_The first time I ever went to a college party with my boyfriend, N., I was anxious for days._  
 _I don’t drink, for a whole bunch of reasons, including my family history, the medicine that keeps me alive, and a deep and deeply irrational need to maintain in control, also, I just think it all tastes awful._  
 _However, I desperately wanted the people at this party to like me, and had no idea how to explain any of those things in a witty or charming way, and eventually, N. caught on, and told me in the kindest, gentlest, tone he has, “Myshka, you don’t owe anyone an explanation. Ever. And if someone bothers you about it, tell them to fuck off or find me. I don’t want to be friends with anyone who would make uncomfortable about that, and you shouldn’t either.” He punctuated that with a kiss on my forehead, then shoved my coat at me._  
 _I’ve yet to determine if that way of thinking is a guy thing, a heritage thing, or just an N. thing, but I do remember every second of that night, because to my complete and utter shock, it worked. That strategy, answers with finality but without explanation, has continued to work for me in a thousand situations since then. I’d strongly recommend you try it._  
 _But! You didn’t ask for a personal story, so, I hope this is cute enough to make up for my rambling._  
 _(Also; Blond!Daniel is still an adjustment, but I had to start somewhere…)_  
…

 

You noticed them the minute they walked through the door. It would’ve been hard not to, because they fell into the kitchen like the least choreographed boy-band in history. The knowledge that they might be wouldn’t sink in for hours.  
Your first thought was that they didn’t quite fit together. Those five boys orbiting each other and talking so loudly you would swear you could hear their entire conversation from across the room.  
By now you’ve learned, guys turn up to parties in groups, like matching sets. There’s the jocks, the skaters, the preps, but those boys, the ones you’ve never seen before, don’t match at all. Except, for how they kind of do, hanging off each other, tripping over their own feet, before they even got to the alcohol.  
Your best friend, on just the safe size of tipsy, two glasses in but still wearing her shoes, clocks the curls and you’re suddenly certain of how your night is going to end.  
“No,” You grab her arm, spinning her to face you instead, wishing for a rolled up newspaper to thwack her forehead with, “Absolutely not.”  
“But,” She pouts, pretty and petty, and blinks her lashes at you like you aren’t immune to her puppy-dog eyes.  
“No,” You hold your ground, “You promised,” You start to remind her, when someone clears their throat behind you, and the victory in her eyes makes you want to key her car.  
“Whatever you were promised,” You turn around, expecting Curls to be there because no one gets caught in your best friend’s gaze and doesn’t try to get a closer look, then frozen by the boy speaking next to him, the ridiculous bleached hair and earrings now responsible for the ridiculous acceleration of your heartbeat, “I’m sure we could help.”  
“I, um,” You stutter, and he smirks.  
“I’m Jack,” Curls hasn’t even looked your way, but smacks a hand on his friend’s back to introduce you, “This is Daniel.”  
Daniel.  
His name ricochets around in your mind, while you’re vaguely away of your best friend preforming the same sort of presentation next to you,  
And then,  
Somehow,  
Probably her best smile, and Jack’s answering grin,  
You find yourself alone with Daniel.  
He leans against the wall, that thing guys do when they think they’re cool but hardly ever works, somehow working on him, “So…” He drawls.  
“So,” You squeak, because Dear God In Heaven, his eyes. You might be developing a heart condition.  
He leans in, and instead of the cloud of Axe Body Spray the guys who come to this type of party have conditioned you to expect, he smells like something better, darker, understated and delicious, unexpected enough to make you inhale, trying to get more of it inside you.  
“Did you just,” Daniel’s eyes crinkle, and you can nearly hear the laugher he’s suppressing, “Did you just sniff me?”  
You can feel the way your face heats, but decide, maybe because you’ve been abandoned, or maybe just because of him, to be brave, “Maybe…” You bite your lip, “And if I did?”  
He laughs, “I’d ask you if you liked it.”  
There’s something serious, and sweet in his eyes, that makes you laugh too, before he launches into a story involving aftershaves and cologne and a bus that you don’t completely understand but are enthralled by anyway, giggling at all right the places and inching closer to him, until your arms brush with every gesture he makes to explain.  
You open your mouth to discuss the frankly insane process your best friend uses to pick a perfume, when you notice his eyes suddenly glued to something behind you, “Everything okay?”  
Daniel nods, “Yeah, just,” He narrows his eyes, then looks back at you, “Could I get you another?” He reaches for the mostly empty cup you’re holding, and you freeze again. Your grip goes so tight your drink splashes on his hand when he tries to take it from you, not anticipating this tug of war.  
You swallow. This is always the awkward part, the worst part of every conversation at every party.  
He wins, holding the cup up in victory, looking a little confused, before you can explain. “What is this?” He asks, lifting your drink to his mouth. His lips where yours just were, a transferred kiss that you think, now, might be the closest you’ll ever get. “Water?” He frowns, then decides, “You’re the DD tonight, right?”  
“Um,” You shake your head, “Not exactly. I’m, ah… Always the designated driver? Because I don’t drink.”  
“Never?” Daniel is distracted again.  
“Never,” You sigh.  
“Cool, cool,” He starts to walk away, calling half-heartedly over his shoulder, “I’ll be back,” in a tone you know means he won’t.  
You sigh again, watching his perfect body cut through the crowd, then start searching for your best friend, because you’d rather leave before you making this any more awkward.  
You’re outside, checking dark corners and all the places you might find two people trying to sneak away, because there’s no chance your best friend doesn’t have Curls pressed up against a wall by now, when you hear your name.  
“Y’know,” Daniel drawls, when you turn around to face him, flipping a water bottle in the air, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to disappear on me.”  
“I,” You trip, and he catches you, the water bottle cold against your back, his body warm and more solid than you were expecting, “I don’t usually stutter this much,” You mumble.  
“I believe you,” Daniel decides, “What were you doing out here?”  
“Trying to leave before I have to watch you ignore me,” You groan, “I’m not usually this honest either.”  
He chuckles, his chest moving against yours, “And you’re sure you aren’t drinking?”  
You groan, “That isn’t funny,” You step back, even though the thing you want most is to press closer, “That’s why.”  
“Your not drinking is why you decided to pull a vanishing act?” His confused face is annoyingly cute.  
“Yes,” You sigh, “Because I know it’s really lame and boring, and you didn’t come here for that,” You parrot the all the things you’ve heard before, deciding to release him of his responsibility, “I promise,” You look into his eyes, “You’ve fulfilled your wingman duties. You can go do whatever you want now. I’ll make sure she gives Curls her number, and…”  
Daniel covers your mouth with his hand, “You don’t know this about me,” He smiles, “But I don’t say things I don’t mean, babe. I said it was cool, that you don’t drink, and I meant it,” He takes his hand down, then holds the water bottle out for you, “I wasn’t trying to get away from you, in there,” He tilts his head back towards the party, “But Zach,” Daniel makes a face, “He’s the baby, and does some dumb things sometimes, and he was about this close,” He holds his fingers a millimeter apart, “To being talked into a keg stand, and last time he did that I had to carry him home, and I swear, my back can’t,”  
You started giggling, two sentences into his explanation, and now you can’t seem to stop.  
Daniel smiles at you, “My pain is amusing to you.”  
You mimic him, showing him with your thumb and pointer finger, “A little bit, yeah.”  
“Oh,” He slides his hands into his pockets, “You think you’re so funny,” He laughs, betraying his condemnation, rocking on back on his heels, “I like you.”  
You blink, “Even though I’m boring?”  
“I haven’t been bored for a second since I saw you,” Daniel lifts his eyebrow, “And if you’re referring to your choice of beverage,” He looks towards the bottle in your hand, “I already told you, it’s cool.”  
“And that’s it?” Past experience has made you skeptical, even in the face of all his sincerity.  
“I mean,” He starts, “I’d like to know your reason, eventually, if you have one, but,” He shrugs, “That’s pretty far down the list of things I want to know about you. The of first of which being,” He smirks “Do I need to find Jack and make him be my wingman now, or are you gonna give me your number?”  
You grin, “I don’t think Jack’s presence is necessary.”  
“Good,” Daniel leans in, and you think about how your best friend is going to tease you forever for begging to stay home tonight, in the second before his smile touches yours, and then you’re helpless to think of anything, except for how he tastes even better than he smells.

_…_   
_Post Script; if he actually does wear Axe Body Spray, nobody tell me. I absolutely do not want to know._


	37. Corbyn's Fault (Jonah)

Ohhhhh my god your blog is so amazingggggg!!! Could you write one where like reader is corbyn’s best friend since high school and also a musician (maybe touring with them for a bit) and him and christina decide to set her and jonah up. But she’s really reluctant because jonah is more experienced and always has a girl and stuff but they end up together and just agajalak sorry😂😅

_Oh my gosh, you’re the sweetest. Thank you!! It truly means so much to me to hear that you appreciate my writing. Of course, I’m so happy to write this for you._   
_I hope you love it! <3_

 

…  
Christina won’t let it go. She’s been on this topic for the past twenty minutes, and in that time you’ve thought of two hundred ways to escape, none of which you’ve actually followed through on.  
“But you think he’s hot right?” Christina presses, her legs tangled with yours on the couch, and you groan, leaning back into the cushions, staring up at the ceiling.  
“Well?” She demands.  
“I mean,” You hedge, “I do have eyes.”  
“For Jonah?” Corbyn asks, appearing seemingly out of thin air, because he tends to dracula around their apartment and enjoys scaring you half to death.  
“Oh, my, god,” You throw a pillow at him, “Do you want to say that any louder? I don’t think they heard you in Australia.”  
He laughs, “Whatever, we’ve got thick walls.”  
“It’s the principle,” You argue, because you’ve been friends with Corbyn for close for forever, and you bicker enough to prove it.  
“It’s not like I,” Corbyn starts to respond, when Christina kicks him.  
“Shut up,” She commands, “We’re in the middle of an important conversation.”  
“About Jonah’s hotness?” Corbyn wiggles his eyebrows, and when he says it you feel a little like you might puke.  
“Corbyn,” You kick him too.  
“Ow!” He throws himself down on the middle of the sofa, sitting on top of both your feet and Christina’s, “I’m just trying to help.”  
“Help set me up with Jonah?” You narrow your eyes at him, “I’ve been on tour with you guys, Cor,” You remind him, “I might like Jonah, but I also know what he’s like.”  
“Except not,” Corbyn protests, lazily, leaning over to cuddle Christina.  
“That,” You poke him, “Doesn’t even make sense. What do you mean ‘except not’?”  
Corbyn’s face is pressed into Christina’s collarbone, prominent dark circles and voice exhausted the way it is every time he sits down for weeks after he gets home from tour, “He hasn’t spent the night with anybody since you told him he could call you at bedtime,” Corbyn turns his face to pout at you, “I’m still mad at you for that. I’m your best friend and I like calling you at bedtime too.”  
Christina plays with his hair, “You poor baby,” She coos, then looks over at you, “See, I told you Jonah’s got a crush.”  
“Jonah’s got a reputation,” You fight the urge to roll your eyes, “Jonah’s got more than a reputation, Jonah’s got a record.”  
Corbyn swats at you, missing your leg and hitting the sofa, “I just said he isn’t like that anymore. Don’t you trust me?”  
“Only as far as I can throw you,” You pat his hand.  
Corbyn, for a brief moment, opens his eyes and seems to actually consider that.  
“Dude,” You laugh, “It’s a metaphor.”  
He nods, once, then presses his face back into Christina, mumbling, “Right, right.”  
You sigh, addressing Christina, “Get him to bed before he does something stupid. Do whatever you have to, just keep him there.”  
You do roll your eyes, when Corbyn sits up immediately, and Christina laughs.  
“C‘mon, babe,” She takes his hand and pulls him towards the bedroom, “Time for sleep,” She looks over her shoulder, meeting your eyes while you shove your shoes on, “Just think about it. I think you guys could be really happy.”  
You sigh, but nod, because Christina is nothing if not stubborn. The last thing you hear before you close the door to their apartment is Corbyn’s yawning protest, “Yeah, but she implied you might…”

You’re halfway down the hall, not in the direction of the elevator, but towards the pool, when you realize what you’re doing.  
Jonah might not even be there, you reason, pushing the door open and looking checking all the chairs. It’s not like he spends every second of his time in Los Angeles soaking up the sun.  
Except for how he does, and you find him sprawled out in the lounger furthest from the splash zone.  
You step in front of him, and watch him take you in. Jonah looks at you over the top of his sunglasses, “You’re blocking my light,” He teases.  
“When was the last time you picked someone up?” The question, somehow, surprises you but doesn’t ruffle him.  
“It’s been a while,” He sits up, making space between his legs for you, and smiling, “Is it safe to assume this is Corbyn’s fault?”  
“I’d mostly blame Christina,” You fold into the place he left for you.  
“They’re ridiculous,” He puts his hand on your thigh.  
“Does that mean they’re wrong?” You study him.  
Jonah shakes his head, “No, but that doesn’t mean we have to do anything about it.”  
“About what exactly Jonah?” You blink.  
“About, well… You know,” Now he’s caught off guard, scrambling to find an explanation before he realizes you’re messing with him. You start giggling, and he can’t help laughing, pressing his forehead to yours, “You’re such a brat.”  
“You like me,” You grin.  
“I do,” He shrugs, nonchalant.  
“Don’t you want to know if I like you back?”  
“Well,” He smirks, “You’re basically in my lap, babe. I think it’s safe to assume you want me too.”  
You shove at him, loving how it feels to have your hands on his warm shoulders, “I really don’t know why.”  
“I’ll make you a list,” Jonah smiles, and that’s why.  
His happy is never uncomplicated. Jonah’s difficult to pin down and hardly ever completely honest, he never lies, but he’s always worried about other people’s expectations and feelings above his own, except when he’s looking at you. That smile, from the first time you caused it, playing him a love song in the back of the tour bus with more sincerity than the joke you meant it as, is blindingly real. Of course, you want it, and him, to be yours. Of course, you always have.


	38. Here For (Jonah)

Can you do a blurb where you're in a mood and start trying to pick a fight with Jonah but he knows you're just upset and doesn't fight back just sort of let's you throw your temper tantrum and waits for you tell him what's really wrong

_So… This is a real thing that I do, and my poor, patient, perfect, N., is going to turn so red should he ever read my blog._

_In other notes; I’m not sure this counts as waiting, but I hope you enjoy it anyway <3_

 

…

You know you’re doing it.

You’re painfully aware it’s irrational, and ridiculous, and, somehow, you cannot seem to stop.

“Why is this so hard for you?” You rant, “I’ve told you a dozen times. How could you not remember?”

“I’m sorry,” Jonah offers, sincerely, absolutely refusing to take the bait.

“And another thing!” You spin around, glaring at his stupid perfect face.

“Yes?” He asks, completely calm, like there isn’t smoke swirling in your eyes.

“You,” You jab your finger into his chest, doing nothing to him, but hurting your own hand, which only serves to further infuriate you, “You!”

“Me?” Jonah smirks, catching your wrists, stopping your floundering.

“You need to let go of me,” You can’t think with his hands on your skin. This something he knows and you’re certain he’s exploiting.

“Yeah,” Jonah tightens his grip, walking you backward, “That’s not going to happen.”

“Jonah,” You whine.

In one not-so-smooth motion, he tosses you on the bed, bouncing down after on you on the mattress, “Yes?” He raises an eyebrow, cocky and confident in the way that just makes you want to bite him.

“We’re fighting,” You grind out.

“Are we?” He laughs, climbing over you, “This doesn’t feel like fighting to me,” He whispers into your ear, pressing his teeth against your neck.

“Jonah,” You move your hips, acting like you want to get him off, “I’m mad at you.”

“Oh,” He’s still smirking, you can feel it on your skin, “Let me make it up to you.”

“Jonah,” You shove at him, feigning annoyance, begging him to catch your hands.

He does, weaving you fingers together, holding them above your head, looking down at you, studying your soul.

Of course, then; you crumble. His serious examination of your eyes causing the compete breakdown of your playful, and pretend, irritation, replacing it instead with the real emotion behind your fire.

“I’ll apologize for real,” Jonah squeezes your hands, “If you’ll just tell me what’s actually going on.”

“I haven’t been sleeping. I feel like I’m two second away from ruining everything, and I don’t know how it’s happened, but I have so much to do, I don’t even have time to breathe, and I feel like I’m failing, and,” You are four sentences into a monologue that’s been running in your head for weeks, when Jonah suddenly flips you, pulling you into his lap, shushing you gently and sweeping the tears off your face, his thumbs collecting the wetness that makes you realize you’re crying.

“Baby, baby, baby,” He quiets you, “Breathe for me.”

You follow his lead, setting the rhythm of your lungs to his, “I’m sorry,” You try, when you’ve finally started to come down.

Jonah shakes his head, hugging you so tight you can hardly breathe again, “Don’t.”

“But,” You attempt to protest.

He leans back to look into your eyes, “This is what I’m here for okay?”

“You came to visit me so I could ruin your shirt with my stress sobbing?” You try for light, and land somewhere closer to fragile.

Jonah smiles, so gentle now, “I didn’t mean it like that,” He brushes your hair back off your face, “I meant, I’m here, on earth, right now, to be here for you, whatever that means, whatever that takes, if that looks like sacrificing my shirts to this,” He glances at the tear stain you left on this shoulder, “Or like the time you broke off the all buttons,”

You blush immediately, protesting, “That was an accident,”

“That was the single hottest thing anyone has ever done to me,” He corrects, still smiling, “That’s what I’m here for, baby. I’m here for you.”

You press your face against his neck, feeling suddenly like you could sleep for ages, or possibly take over the world, and you remember; of course you can do this. You are capable of everything, as long as you have him behind you.


	39. Convincing (Zach)

hiii! would you be able to do an imagine where you’re friends with the boys & you’ve liked zach for the longest time but you’ve never wanted to date him because he seems like an fboy so you just stayed away, but one of the boys, Jack maybe, convinces you that he isn’t bad and that zach like you back and so a relationship flourishes :) xx

_Thank you for being so kind in asking! You’re so sweet, this is so sweet, and I adore ‘convincing’ conversations._

_So much so, that now I’m wondering if stealing from yourself counts as plagiarism? One of my favorite pieces of dialogue I’ve ever written has a very similar feeling to this prompt, and I definitely stole from that for this. The original work is called Hooked._

_And finally, Sassy!Jack is maybe my favorite Jack, so I hope this makes you smile <3_

 

…

You know from the way Jack drawls your name, the second Zach’s across the room battling Ryan for a controller and chance to prove himself as The Best Herron in a video game, that you are in so much trouble.

“So, you and Zach,” Jack starts.

“There is no me and Zach,” You make air-quotes to prove it.

“You sure about that?” Jack looks, pointedly, at the place Zach’s head was just in your lap, “Because, I hate to tell you this,”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t,” He smirks, “Zach’s in love with you.”

“He’s Zach,” You bite your lip.

“And you’re you,” Jack narrows his eyes, “So I‘m not sure what the problem is.”

“No. He’s Zach,” You whine, adding emphasis to the way his name struggles to encompass all that Zach is.

Jack chuckles, “I get what you’re saying,” He glances over at Zach, now elbowing his brother trying to cheat to win the game, “But he’s still a good dude.”

“He stole a jello cup out of my hand,” You level at Jack, “In kindergarten, and also, last week.”

“I didn’t say he was perfect,” Jack tries to maintain a facade of seriousness, but after a second can’t help laughing with you.

You finally catch your breath, biting your lip again, watching Zach escalate to sitting on top of his brother, trying to block his view. “I don’t even understand what he sees in me. Have you seen his exes?”

Jack looks at you like you’re the one being ridiculous, “You say that like you’re hideous or something.”

“You literally called me that yesterday,” You kick him.

“It was early,” He protests.

“It was after noon,” You shake your head.

Jack grins, “Don’t be dumb. He likes you for the inside stuff,” He grimaces, “Your heart and shit. The way you make Reese laugh and do Ryan’s algebra homework,”

“I don’t do his homework,” You argue, “I help him,”

“Help him write down all the answers,” Jack huffs, “Will you just listen to me?” He meets your eyes, “I have seen his exes, but, babe, I’m telling you; you don’t have anything to worry about. They’re all the same.”

“Stupid pretty?” You ask.

“So fucking boring,” Jack answers, “They’re all so fucking boring. None of them have ever made him smile the way you do,” He pokes your leg, “Look, I’m not trying to tell you what to do,”

“Yes, you are,” You correct.

“Yes, I am,” Jack concedes, “But you outta know, it doesn’t mean anything, that you aren’t going to win a beauty pageant against those girls. If there was a test for who’s a better friend? Or date? Or partner? You’d win, no competition.”

You smile, laying your head down on his shoulder, “Y’know, sometimes you’re alright, Jack.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He pats the top of your head, a little too aggressively, “Just don’t break my boy’s heart, okay?”

“Okay,” You whisper, watching Zach jump up, having, questionably, beaten Ryan to win their game.

Jack stands up then too, calling out, “Come on, Ryan, I want snacks.”

“But,” Ryan complains, only to be physically dragged out of the room.

Zach looks over at you, flushed and handsome and suddenly skeptical watching Jack haul his brother outside, “Did he say something to you?”

“Only that you’ve been lonely crying yourself to sleep every night and it’s all my fault.”

Zach, immediately, blushes, stammering, “Ah,”

“Oh, my god,” You stand up, scrambling to get to his side, “That was supposed to be a joke. I was trying to make you laugh,” You rush out.

Zach nods, still not looking at you, “Right. Cool.”

“Zachary,” You roll your eyes, “Why do you think I’ve followed you around all this time?”

“I, ah,” He looks at you, pulling his eyebrows together adorably.

“Because I’ve been in love with you since the first time you replaced my jello with a cookie, you idiot,” You laugh, “Zach, I don’t even like jello. I just buy it because I like the way you steal it from me,” He‘s stunned, gaping with his mouth open, but you keep going, “I moved to Los Angeles for you. How could you ever think I wasn’t in love you?” You smile, just the corners of your mouth turning up at the way his eyes are shining, “Jack told me not to break your heart, Z. But I’m way more worried about you breaking mine.”

“Never,” Zach says, immediately, “I would never. I couldn’t. You love me?” He blinks, “Like, for real?”

“Like, for always,” You correct, and he smiles.

You’re constantly trying to make Zach smile. You’re obsessed with the way happiness looks on him, and you thought you knew, until this moment, every single expression he had.

Except the way he looks at you, in the millisecond before asking, “Does that mean I can kiss you now?” is better than any you’ve ever seen before, and you vow, in that moment, to make him look like that as often as possible. Even if you have to announce your love for him constantly;

Maybe,

You think, after you nod and his mouth finds yours, the best, and last, first kiss of your life,

Maybe especially then.


	40. Important (Daniel)

“Daniel,” You complain, not looking up from the project you’ve covered the kitchen island with, “This is due tonight.”

He tightens his arms around your waist, “That’s a terrible excuse.”

“It’s important,” You try.

“And what about me?” He kisses your neck.

“You’re important too. It’s not either-or equation,” You roll your eyes.

“Neither is finishing this and skating with me,” Daniel argues.

You take one last look at the line you’ve spent ten minutes rewriting, then sigh, “Fine.”

“Yes,” He says to himself, letting go of you, and you watch his reflection fist pump on the fridge.

 

Daniel tells you, for probably the hundredth time, how to accelerate, how to reverse and how to stop the board, before checking the bindings and strapping his helmet to your head, smirking when you protest about his lack of protection, “I’m not the one with a project to finish later.”

You race him down the nearly empty streets, letting him win, savoring the way he looks back every block and smiles when he sees you’re still there.

Daniel doesn’t stop at the pier, at any of the places you’d usually ditch the boards, or move toward the sidewalk. Instead, he rides out on the boardwalk, navigating through the tourists and challenging you to keep up, his bright blonde hair a beacon in the crowd.

You finally catch him, alone, at the very end. His skateboard discarded and his feet up on the first board of the railing.

“Okay, Rose,” You grin, “Get down from there before you fall in.”

Daniel looks over his shoulder, “Why don’t you join me?”

“I’m not recreating Titanic with you on a public beach, Seavey,” You shake your head.

He turns around, still standing on the barrier, “Please?” He smiles, and-

 

And that’s how you find yourself sandwiched between him and the sea, muttering, “You really shouldn’t be so cute. It’s clearly a danger to my health.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” Daniel laughs, the sound reverberating through his chest into you, “And you know I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

You smile, looking away from him and up at the sky, actually taking it in for the first time since you got here, and the sunset takes your breath away, “Oh.”

“See,” Daniel whispers, “You needed this.”

He’s right, of course, you needed to get out of the house, needed this space and perspective to finish your project, but more than that, it’s been days since you were alone with him, and you needed that more than anything. You always need that.

“This is important too,” Daniel reminds you, gently, and in this perfect little moment he made for you, you can’t help thinking about how wrong he is. There is no ‘too’. Your life is not an either-or equation, between him and everything else, because it’s not an equation at all. It’s just him.

…

_He really is the cutest when he’s happy, and I couldn’t help myself._

_Also, I wish I could’ve made this longer, but I am actually drowning in research (one more day!!) <3_


	41. Family (Jack)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, this was written before May 13th. <3

Can you do a blurb about how the boys would react to the reader saying they never want kids

_I am a Baby Person._

_I am such a Baby Person, when I tried that momentarily viral thing of texting your significant other, ‘I want a baby,’ mine reacted, predictably, as if I told him the color of the sky._

_The sky is blue, the earth revolves around the sun, and I want babies. (Specifically, his babies, but that’s another story.)_

_However, my best friend, O., absolutely never does._

_I thought a lot about her, and how I think of her, while writing this, so I hope it reads with as much empathy and compassion as she has, and as much love as I have for her, because she’s the greatest._

_And finally, I’ve Got Reasons for picking Jack for this, but I hope the story explains them, and that this is what you were looking for <3_

…

“And her little curls,” Jack gushes, basically vibrating beside you on the sofa over the adorableness of a toddler who came through the meet and greet line tonight.

“She sounds precious,” You grin at him.

“So,” Zach calls out from in front of the mirror on the other side of the green room, which is usually teeming with people, but for now is just you and band, “Odds on your babies coming out curly?”

You laugh, “Zero, because, Jack’s hair is fake,”

“Hey,” Jack protests, a point of pride, “It’s permed, not fake.”

“Right,” You tug on one of his ringlets, then look back at Zach, “Jack’s hair is permed, which is definitely not genetic, and,” You drag out the word, “More importantly, I don’t want kids.”

It’s like a record scratch, like a remote control stop button you didn’t know you had, the entire room going still and silent the second you say that.

“Which I guess I haven’t mentioned before…” You glance at Jack, and he shrugs.

“But,” Corbyn is the first to recover, gesturing at your boyfriend, “Jack loves kids.”

“So do I?” You blink slowly, “But that doesn’t mean I want them.”

“But!” Zach insists, and Jonah clears his throat.

“Ah,” He interrupts, “Have you guys talked about this?”

Jack looks at him like he’s dumb, “Of course we’ve talked about this.”

Jonah lifts both hands, placating if still confused, “Just checking.”

“So,” Daniel taps his foot, “You’re never having kids? Ever?”

Jack sighs, “I don’t get what’s so difficult to grasp about this,” He looks at you, conspiratorially if completely calm, “Her bloodline ends with her.”

“But what about yours?” Corbyn presses.

“Yeah, Dude,” Zach’s eyes are huge, “What about your mom? Doesn’t she want to be a grandma?”

“She’s got three other children,”Jack rolls his eyes, “I’m sure at least one of my sisters will reproduce.”

Zach makes a face, “That makes it sound gross.”

“It is gross,” You laugh again, “Which is one reason why I won’t be doing it. Plus,” You level with him, “Having kids for the sake of your parents, or literally anyone other than you, is a horrible idea.”

“A real recipe for disaster,” Jack backs you up, his hand squeezing your thigh.

“Huh,” Zach considers it.

“I just always though you’d be into it,” Corbyn muses, “Y’know, because you’re both always the first to offer to babysit.”

“Babysitting doesn’t have anything to do with having babies,” Jack narrows his eyes, still defensive.

“It’s, like,” You try to explain, “I adore Isla, and Reese and Svea and all my little cousins. I love spending time with them. They’re awesome, and cool and smart and interesting and I could hang out with them all day. I like kids, in general. But I just,” You bite your lip, “I just don’t have any interest in raising my own. I like kids, but I also really like being able to give them back.”

Jonah tilts his head, “And you feel the same way, Jack?”

“I’ve changed enough diapers for a lifetime,” He shakes his head, “So, yeah. For sure.”

“But you want a family,” Daniel insists, “You want the white picket fence, the golden retriever, the whole American Dream,” He points at Jack, “We’ve discussed it.”

“I do want that. But babies don’t make a family,” Jack’s still calm, but suddenly dead serious, “I should know because my parents couldn’t even stick it out being a family until my sister reached double digits. Adults make families. Adults choose their family, kids or no kids. We can be a family of two,” He puts his arm over your shoulder and pulls you closer to him.

“And someday, probably a cat,” You lean in, smiling.

“Yeah,” Jack grins, “Probably a whole damn zoo, knowing you.”

“Maybe,” You stick out your tongue, “I like recusing thing. And vacations. I really like vacations.”

“And not getting vomited on,” Jack lists another reason to remain childless.

“And not cheering for someone using the toilet.”

“And not cleaning up messes we don’t make.”

“And never having to share our bed.”

“Alright, Alright,” Zach cuts you off, “We get it.”

“Do you?” You blink at him.

“Yeah,” Corbyn answers for the rest of the guys, snickering, “You’re sickening in love and need to stop reciting the benefits to not having kids now, because Christina wants, like, at least two and you know I’m helpless when it comes to what that woman wants.“

“But that’s a benefit for us too,” You smirk, “Because then we can borrow your kids to do all the cool things,”

“Take them to Disney, get them all sugared up,” Jack lifts up his hand.

“And then give them back,” You finish his sentence, high-fiving him, before everyone in the room dissolves into laugher at Corbyn’s fake indignation.

 

Maybe your family is a little unorthodox, you and Jack, surround by all these idiots you can’t imagine life without, but it’s exactly perfect for you.


	42. Meant To Be (Jonah)

Can you do one for jonah? Where he is 22 and you 24 and he has a kid. Like you've been dating for a little while and now you meeting his 4 year old son for the first time and you get along with him realy wel and jonah is in chock cause his son is really shy and takes a lot of time to warm up to people and when the boys see you with the kid for the first time they tell him the same thing. Xxx thnx love you blog and writing its soooo good and i just thought this would be realy cute

 

_So, I disappeared from The Internet this weekend for my best friend’s graduation, and my cousins’ first birthday. There were almost as many babies at their party as there were adults, and it was so, so great._

_Which really made me want to write Dad!Jonah. I usually never skip around in my inbox, but special circumstances and all… Plus, this request just made my heart so happy. I hope you love it as much as I loved writing it!_

…

 

You aren’t exactly certain how you got here.

Here being frozen ten steps inside an arena holding a four year old.

 

It might’ve started months ago. When Jonah, in an uncharacteristic display of nervousness, stumbled over his words and rambled for long enough you were positive he was breaking up with you, before finally confessing, “I have a son.”

And you, instead of asking any of the questions a normal person might have about that, said the first thing that crossed your mind, “Like an actual human child? Not, like, a puppy or something?”

 

Or it might’ve begun the moment you met him, standing in the doorway of Jonah’s, previously very off-limits apartment, months after you first found out about him, feeling more nervous than you could ever remember being. Jonah clearing his throat to introduce you to, his very much actual human child, Ezra.

You were stuck, immediately, by their resemblance. The miniature of the man you were already more than half in love with playing with crayons on the floor. His mess brown hair and adorable pointy chin, refusing to lift his eyes even after Jonah coaxed, “Hey, buddy, remember how we talked about my friend coming over to visit. Do you think you could you say hello?”

Ezra in turn, mumbled something way too quiet for you to hear, and curled even further around his coloring book.

Jonah, in some mixture of embarrassment and resignation, tried to explain, wincing, “Sorry. I know I said he was a little shy…”

And you completely ignored him. “Hi Ezra,” You folded yourself down to the floor, keeping your distance on the opposite side of the living room, crossing your legs and speaking as softly as you could, “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Ezra, for one perfect second, glanced over with his gorgeous hazel eyes, an exact copy of his Daddy’s, that you pretended not to see.

“Ezzie,” Jonah tried again, but you knew, somehow, that acknowledging him would be a mistake.

“Your Daddy told me sometimes you get overwhelmed,” You smiled Ezra direction, gently, “When I was little, I used to get scared sometimes too, so my dad taught me the Here game, do you know that one?”

Ezra shook his head, and you caught Jonah settling into the doorway, letting you do this. Trusting you to do this with his son, and that trust made you feel like you could do anything.

“Would you like to learn?” You kept going, and finally heard Ezra‘s voice, so sweet you melted at his single syllable, “Yes.”

“Okay,” You uncrossed your legs, taking up just a little bit more space, “The point of the Here game is to remember where we are. So, where am I, Ezra?”

He looked around the room, his tiny eyebrows exactly as expressive as Jonah’s, a little lost but still following you, an expression you were already utterly familiar with, “Here?” Ezra asked.

“That’s right,” You nodded, “But more importantly; I’m here,” You tapped your nose, “And here,” You wiggled your feet, and waved your hands, slowly, “And here. And where are you, Ezra?”

Ezra’s eyes got wide, and he tapped his feet against the floor, “Here?”

“Yup, you’re there,” You encouraged.

“And here?” He held his palms up, curling and uncurling his fingers.

“I’d say so,” You grinned.

“And here?” He poked his own forehead, and giggled, possibly the best sound you’d ever heard, and you’d been receiving private concerts from his father for weeks.

“You’re totally here,” You crossed one foot over the other, beaming.

Ezra smiled back, “What about Daddy?” The question, and the way he looked up at Jonah, full of confidence and trust and admiration, made all the butterflies in your stomach soar.

“I’m right here,” Jonah answered, immediately, deserving of all those emotions in his son’s eyes. But Ezra protested anyway, “Nooo, Daddy. Where are you?”

Jonah smirked, then, looking over at you before obediently shaking his feet and wiggling his fingers at his son, “I’m here?”

“Yeah, you are,” You barely managed to drag your gaze away from him to look back at Ezra, “So, if I’m here, and you’re here, and your Daddy’s here,” You leaned back a little, letting yourself take up just a little bit more space, “Is anything really that scary?”

Ezra shook his head, deciding, “No,” then, tentatively, offering you a page of his coloring book, and you’ve been best friends ever since.

 

 

Which is, you suppose, how you actually ended up here, because when Ezra finished a drawing, signing his name the way you’ve been teaching him to, and insisted that Daddy needed to see it right now, you were totally helpless to say no, momentarily forgetting the band had to change their meet and greet today, to be earlier than usual to allow for some kind of pre-show interview later.

The roar of the crowd on the other side of what, frankly seems like way too flimsy, screens reaches Ezra’s ears a moment after it hits yours, and his arms around you neck and feet swinging by your hips, his usually endlessly restless limbs, freeze.

“Ezzie,” You lean back a little to run your fingers through his hair, sweeping it off his forehead, “Where are you?”

He blinks, once, twice, three times, then kicks his feet out again, tapping his fingers on your shoulder, whispering, “Here.”

“Good job,” You tuck him tighter against you, “I’m really sorry. I forgot Daddy’s working right now, and he has a lot of friends visiting him. So, we’ve got two options,” You meet his serious expression, “We can give him the picture later, or,” Ezra tilts his head up, listening intently to his choices, “Or,” You steel yourself, “We can give it to him now, with all his friends.”

Ezra’s mouth pulls to the side, his thinking face, a perfect mirror imagine of Jonah’s, “Now, please.”

“Okay, Ezra,” You straight up, “You’re here, and I’m here, and Daddy,” You turn the corner, a sudden hush falling over the crowd at the sight of you and, more importantly, Ezra in your arms, “Daddy’s right there, so nothing bad at all could happen, right?”

“Right,” Ezra holds his chin up, and you didn’t know it was possible to feel this proud.

Except, that feeling only grows, when Corbyn elbows Jonah, getting his attention and security’s to stop the seemingly never ending stream of girls, “Hey bro, let’s take a minute, your family’s here.”

“My,” Jonah frowns, turning around, then the corners of his mouth turning up when he sees his son.

“Hi,” You grin.

“Hi Daddy,” Ezra giggles.

Jonah keeps smiling, “Hi guys,” He steps closer, wrapping his arms around you both, “I thought you were hanging out on the bus.”

“We made you a picture,” Ezra helpfully informs him.

“Oh, did you?” Jonah asks, honestly interested and patient in a way he only ever is for the two of you.

Ezra careful unfolds it, pointing to the shapes he’s colored to represent himself, Jonah, the dog he, with some cheeky encouragement from you, won’t stop asking for, and you, drawn into a glitter-pen family portrait where you’ve never wanted to belong more.

“It’s a masterpiece, bud,” Jonah declares, holding it up to the light, looking at it from all angles, “I think this is top of the fridge material,” Jonah winks, “Don’t you?”

You smirk, “Actually, I think we better frame it.”

Ezra giggles again, which makes Jonah the kind of happy that crinkles the corners of his eyes, and you didn’t know you could love like this.

You didn’t know, could never have comprehended what your life was missing, before these boys, and now you can’t even picture a world without their smiles. Corbyn was right, this is your family now, Jonah, and Ezra and all the hypothetical hazel-eyed siblings for him you hope for someday. Completely unexpected and so beautiful you’re certain in this moment your heart is beating inside of both their chests.

 

That sound is all you can hear until the rest of the world comes flooding back in; Zach answering something a fan asks, loudly proclaiming, “I know! I know! I was totally his favorite before she came along.”

“Whose favorite?” Jonah steps back to rejoin his bandmates, slinging an arm over Zach’s shoulders, “Mine or Ezzie’s?”

“Both!” Zach pouts, “Both of you don’t like people and loved me best, then she showed up,” He groans, “And now I’m nobody!” Which isn’t entirely true, but just makes Jonah laugh, and Ezra shrug, still wrapped around you like a tiny spider monkey, and suddenly you know;

 

It doesn’t really matter how you got here, only that here is where you were always meant to be.

 

…

_For M. &C., I didn’t know what our family was missing before you came along, and now I can’t imagine life without you. You are both so, so loved and have me wrapped around your fingers, for always. Even when that means holding you until my arms go numb and getting frosting all over my favorite dress. You’re worth it._


	43. Craziness (Daniel)

hiii your writing is so good and I constantly check to see if you’ve written more,,, but I love angst and argument resolution bc it makes things realistic but still cute and loveable so may you pls write an angsty Daniel argument, where both he and the reader are just stubborn and tired and just don’t wanna go to bed angry? thank youuuu

_You’re too sweet! Thank you!_

_I’m not generally great/very confident at writing angst, but I hope this fulfills your prompt (because it’s such a good one)_

_Additionally, my friend, K., has insisted on lovelytheband’s ‘I Like The Way’ for warmup for weeks. And I couldn’t get it out of my head while writing this so thanks to him, I suppose_.

 

…

The problem is, he’s so stubborn.

The problem is, Daniel Seavey, according to Daniel Seavey has never been wrong or bad at anything, ever.

The problem is, he drove twenty minutes in the wrong direction after you left the party, ignoring you when you tried to tell him, and instead of admitting it, keeps insisting it was some kind of shortcut. All you wanted in the whole world, when you finally dragged him away from his bandmates, was your bed, and now you’re so frustrated you shut the door on him the second you step inside, and consider locking it.

“I have a key,” He mutters, reading your mind, pushing it back open.

“And I can admit that was a mistake,” You say, under your breath, leaning down to finally remove your shoes.

“Oh, come on,” Daniel groans, closing the door behind himself.

“You are this close,” You mime a millimeter with your hands, “to getting a shoe thrown at you. I suggest you stop talking.”

He frowns, “You wouldn’t.”

You roll your eyes, “No, Daniel, I wouldn’t injure your ridiculous perfect face,” You walk away from temptation, leaving your shoes in the hallway, “But you‘re sleeping on the sofa.”

“Baby,” He starts.

“Don’t ‘Baby’ me,” You stomp towards the bathroom, and he defines all reason, following you.

You turn on the sink, slamming makeup remover down on the counter and washing your face aggressively.

Daniel leans in the doorway, trying to reason, “We’re home now.”

You are so far past reason, glaring at him around your toothbrush, mumbling, “We could have been home an hour ago if you just listened to me!”

Daniel, because he’s a jerk, grins, “I understood two of those words, so I’m gonna assume you agree and forgive me.”

You scoff, spitting in the sink, then meet his eyes, “When Hell freezes over, Seavey.” You push past him, into the bedroom, reaching for the zipper on your dress, yanking it down and letting it puddle on the floor before you glance back at him, just in time to catch his swallow. “Really?” You can’t help the disbelief in your voice.

“Fuck,” He groans, “I can’t help it. You’re,” He exhales, taking one step closer to you, “You’re radiant when you’re furious.”

You look up at the ceiling, “You should be less good at words.”

Daniel stands behind you, wrapping his arms around you and setting his mouth on you neck, “It’s kind of my job,” He says, against your skin, “Don’t make me sleep on the couch, baby. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Say you’re sorry,” You manage to insist, in the second before his fingers turn you into putty.

He nudges you towards the bed, pushing you down and pulling his body over yours, preforming half a push-up to get his eyes level with yours, “I’m very sorry. It will never happen again.”

“Of course it’s going to happen again,” You laugh, throwing your head back, your hands twisting in his hair of their own volition, “Just promise you’ll listen to me next time.”

Daniel sets his teeth on your collarbone, “I promise, in the future, I’ll take your opinion into consideration.”

“You’re crazy,” You groan, half-disbelief, half-pleasure at what he’s doing with his tongue, “I’m in love with a crazy person.”

“I suppose that makes you crazy too,” He whispers in your ear.

He’s right, of course.

Love is craziness. Even when he drives you mad, you still crave him, still love him, still want to get into verbal sparing matches with him when you’re ninety. Daniel might be hopeless at directions and the most stubborn person you’ve ever known, but he’s still your person.


	44. Lavender May Avery

He told you, in starts and mumbles and with his head on your lap.

He entered your house without knocking, which wasn’t unusual, then instead of beelining for your refrigerator threw himself down on the sofa to bury his face on your thigh, which was.

 

In so many ways, Jack is your soulmate. Never the romantic kind, but whatever souls are made of, his and yours are the same. You understand, intimately, his passion, his sense of fairness, his headstrong approach to life, and all his anxiety.

You know yourself, because you know him.

 

So you knew, instantly,

Something was very, very wrong.

 

And then he told you, his voice stilted, confusion and fear, the kind you were utterly unfamiliar with, shining in his eyes, “Gabriela’s pregnant.”

 

One sentence changing their whole life.

 

You, somehow, possibly an act of God or maybe a best-friend instinct, didn’t panic. Only one of you can break down at a time, and clearly, he came in broken.

Instead, you made him sit up, repeat himself, looking you in the eye, and then held him for a minutes afterwards while he sobbed.

“What am I going to do? I’m never home, how can I raise a baby? How did this happen?” Jack, finally, caught his breath, then spent it all on rapid fire questions, most of which you couldn’t answer.

“Statistically,” You dragged out the word to get his attention, stemming his flood of questions, “Fertility only possible during a fraction of the month, so, you must’ve gotten very lucky, or very unlucky depending on how you look at at,”

“You’re not helping,” Jack whined, tipping forward to knock his forehead against your shoulder.

“Well,” You scratched at the shaved part of his hair, calming him like a cat, “You aren’t having a panic attack anymore, so I think I might be.”

He sighed, deep and more grownup than you had ever heard him sound, “What am I supposed to do?”

You didn’t know, actually, what the answer to his question was, but you knew what he needed to remember, “You love her, right?”

“Of course,” He scrambled upright, his eyes bloodshot and so clear, “I love her so much. The most.”

“Okay, then,” You grabbed at his shoulders, “There are options here, but not supporting her in whatever she decides isn’t one of them,” You stared into his gorgeous brown eyes, “Jack, it’s going to be hard. All of it, every decision she might make, no matter what, from here on, it’s all going to be hard,” You squeezed him, “But you get to pick your hard with her.”

“And you’ll be there?” He blinked, slowing settling into this new reality, “Like, no matter what?”

“Dude,” You pulled him into you, hugging him tight enough to hold him together, “I love you. Obviously, I’m going to be right beside you, no matter what. That’s what love means,” You reminded him, “Showing up for the hard.”

 

 

And it was hard.

It was so, so hard.

Watching Jack and Gabriela learn and grow and struggle, watching them choose this hard, choose courage and vulnerability, watching them adjust to the world made new by the tiny person they picked to share together.

It was so, so hard, and so, so worth it,

when Jack finally called you into the room, introducing you to his daughter for the first time. “Meet your new best friend, Lavender May,” He beamed, confident and sure of himself, in a way he had never been before, handing you the most precious thing in the world.

 

“Hi Petal,” You whispered, awestruck by her perfection, “You don’t know it yet, but you’ve got your Daddy’s ambition, your Mommy’s perseverance, passions all your own,” She opened her eyes then, a reflexion of Jack’s, infinitely better on her, “And me. You’ve got me, and I’m going to love you forever, and be here for every one of your hards too.”

 

 

…

_Welcome to the world Lavender May. It’s all fragile, chaos and beauty, and I’m so happy you’re here._

 

_You will be The Hardest Thing your parents ever do, and also,_

_The Very Best._

<3


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